


Chaos is a ladder

by Ro_Nordmann



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brienne is not in the Kingsguard, Evil Bran Stark, Evil!Bran, F/M, Jaime alive?, Jon Snow knows nothing and isn't part of this story..., Lightbringers, Post-Canon Fix-It, S8 Canon Divergence AU, The Lord of Light has plan, Three-Eyed Raven is an evil bitch that must be stopped, Um...a fix-it fic, Who thought that Bran the Broken was a good choice?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 03:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20500058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ro_Nordmann/pseuds/Ro_Nordmann
Summary: Brandon Stark died the day he fell from the tower.  

It was that simple. 

By the time he awoke from his dreamlike stasis, the transformation had already begun toward something other…no longer meant for the world of mortals and their petty squabbles. Bran had been released from his destiny in House Stark, as the last surviving male heir.  His humanity slowly being leached from his now broken body, his mind overtaken by a preternatural influence. 

An ancient force made of light and darkness. 

Which side would win?"Wench, you forget you belong to this aging lion. Your father will give his blessing and I will join you in the Sapphire Isle. We will play our part and then we can leave this all behind. I will make sure the throne ends with the slash of our blades. This I swear to you, Ser Brienne. Now, I will kiss you and you will give yourself to me freely for you are mine. Say it, Brienne."





	1. Chaos is a ladder

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

**CHAOS IS A LADDER**

**Chapter 1**

* * *

Brandon Stark died the day he fell from the tower. 

It was that simple. 

By the time he awoke from his dreamlike stasis, the transformation had already begun toward something _other_…no longer meant for the world of mortals and their petty squabbles. Bran had been released from his destiny in House Stark, as the last surviving male heir.His humanity slowly being leached from his now broken body, his mind overtaken by a preternatural influence. 

An ancient force made of light and darkness. 

_Which side would win?_

The Children of the Forest had played with this insurmountable power and it had corrupted them. The First Men persevered…still the Others persisted after millennia. 

_Light or Dark…It all depended on Bran and his choice._

His childhood lost, stolen from him with theflick of a wrist, fingers slipping across stone.The **Sight** was a heavy burden, not meant for mortals to bear. Too much knowledge and the sway that came with manipulating the many outcomes of a future unknown to mortals. This was the truth of becoming the _Three-Eyed Raven._

All went according to plan. No one suspected a thing. Each piece on the board was moving, such a great Cyvasse game. Let them praise Lord Tyrion as the most intelligent man in all of Westeros.With all his cunning and strategy, the Imp was no match for the _Three-Eyed Raven, _who travels through time, gaining all knowledge, seeing every whisper…

Vanquishing enemies without really moving. Just waiting for the right moment to strike.All the possibilities right at his fingertips, only a flick of fate and it was done.Words are wind, but how magnificent to see the ashes left behind. A whole world remade, and now he sat on the eternity of time, bound to a chair and yet set free.

What was the Iron Throne but the melted remains of the failures of unworthy men and women. All ignoble examples of greed, lust and ineptness. If only they had known, the fail safe of their doom would come in the form of glowing blue eyes as ice. An Army of the Dead set to obliterate the memories of the world, the death of the **Sight**.

Alas that was done for…one Valyrian blade in the hands of a Stark ended it. The Night King was no more and all hope of stopping his ascent. His crows would show him all he needed to see…Drogon would take care of the rest…such a good pet. All the game pieces were falling neatly into place.

A soft knock reminded the _Three-Eyed Raven_ of the discomfiture of having to feign helplessness. To his subjects, he must remain Bran the Broken.His blank stare slipped back easily, as he faced the door.

“Come in.”

“Your Grace, we have news…the Hand needs to convene the Council immediately. He asked for your presence, if you please.” The poor boy kept his eyes downcast, unable to stare at the young man sitting by the window overlooking the charred remnants of the Red Keep and the city of King’s Landing.

“Please send my servant, I’d like to change but will be ready in an hour. Let my Hand know, I will be attending.”

A nod as reply, the guard left him to his solitude.

Yes, every single detail was falling into place.Every single pawn walking, thinking, talking, moving in the direction intended by its master. 

Tyrion, Sansa, Arya, Jon…Jaime. 

Pieces in his Cyvasse board.All willing participants of his Game of Thrones.Littlefinger would be proud. Varys would cower in the shadow ofhis greatness, the realm was his and no one would be able to contest it. The Old Knowledge was lost to them, the maesters were blinded by their hubris.Nothing amiss in their eyes, justice had prevailed and Westeros was on its way to restoration…still the form the future would take was obscured from their comprehension. 

One of the best lessons, Bran ever learned…

_Chaos is a ladder_.

Even without function in his legs, he learned to climb. Unlike his predecessor he would not remain locked in a tree beyond the Wall, destined to watch from the sidelines, never taking part in the making of the thread of life. Ironically, the Night King’s purpose to bring about their mutual destruction thus balancing the Light and the Dark in the universe had actually been his savior. The **Sight** had set him free. And now the Long Night was extinguished forever, his power indisputable, his Reign unchallenged. 

* * *


	2. The Kingslayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The word echoes in the room, the moniker that is forever his companion. His past and his future, his legacy and his curse…And for a moment he remembers it on her lips and it is a caress.
> 
> The Kingslayer.
> 
> Jaime. My name is Jaime.

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Blood had been spilled since the dawn of man. And more in the last turn of the moon than in the past century judging by the bodies piled outside the walls of Winterfell and strewn in the streets of the capital, all over Riverrun and the Westerlands. 

Why then was the one and only Jaime Fucking Lannister spared the indignity of putrefying amongst them?

He coughed up a large clot, and spat it beside his cot. _The fever had broken_, the priestess said. _A respite from the Lord of Light_, she said. Gods and their never-ending bullshit. He should be dead, there was no after for an Oathbreaker. He had heard the words, accepted them. He had walked willingly to the arms of the Stranger and yet he was breathing…again. A gift from a god he didn’t worship, didn’t believe in. _The Holy Fire had willed it so_, she had said. It had not consumed him, not _as_ it had his sister, his other half. She was no more. 

> _We are one person in two bodies. We shared a womb together. He came into this world holding my foot, our old maester said. When he is in me, I feel...whole._

Words spoken in whispers, in forbidden moments so often that it became their truth. And yet this god deemed it inconsequential to honor it. The ache persisted inside him, like another oath broken, another failure branded on his soul. So many oaths, more than one man could possibly keep. Pledging of loyalty, swearing of fealty…all just words in the end. He better than most knew the precipice one perched on when making oaths.

“Drink.You must replenish. You must fulfill your destiny…the Lord has demanded it.”

He opened his mouth and tried to swallow.It was only water. For a moment he wished it was milk of the poppy, something to allow him to drown himself in dreams…far from the nightmares of burning bodies, dragonsroaring overhead and wights biting off flesh. His eyes were closed, as a hand touched his forehead.

“You must live…you will see _her_ again. She will help you in your quest.She is part of the Lord’s plan. I saw it in the flames, the Knight with straw-colored hair, with the lion on the pommel of her sword, given by her lover. She mourns for you. So grand is her love, it existed long before you made her yours, would have continued burning in her chest until the end of her days even if you never touched a strand of her hair. _You must honor that devotion, pay what you owe, Lannister._”

While speaking her voice became otherworldly, as if a specter took over her body. Her eyes shined as she glared, staring into him, seeing everything he had ever done…the right, the wrong..his sins laid bare, with nothing to hide underneath. 

His throat felt flayed open, but still he tried to speak, “I’m n-no one, a s-shell you have revived. I’m a useless c-cripple. A half-man with half his soul gone. I failed Cersei. I betrayed _her_…Brienne. She will morn…she’s free of me, my stain will mar her no more. I-I w-won’t return to her.”

> “_You dare defy me, Kingslayer! You will abide, you will submit, and you will do as I command. This is your destiny. To be a Kingslayer once more…_This time you will save a whole realm, a whole world. Your servitude is a small price to pay to breathe again, to fuck again, to live years beside the woman you love, to die in her arms…yes, there is an after. What you make of it, I leave it in your sole, weaker hand.”

How appropriate for the Lord of Light to remind him of his loss, to intertwine his fate and his failing as one. Once finished she shook slightly, falling silent as a chill passed through her, whatever possessed her leaving as quickly as it came. Her hands trembled, and tears sprung from her eyes. 

Kinvara began to pray in High Valyrian. And while he did not understand the words, they frightened him all the same. 

> _Take me, Stranger. It must be better to be judged by you, than live through this_, Jaime thought.

The eyes of the red priestess pierced him, as if she could hear every thought. Another bout of coughing and he was again spitting dark blood. Death had to better than this…knowing what awaited him. If he yielded to this _god_ it meant ending another king, one that through some convoluted happenstance was in power as a result of his most heinous crime.The Stark boy was meant to die from the fall, to protect Cersei, their children, their secret.

> _How do you know there is an afterwards?_

The words had struck his insides, causing him to feel untethered from a future that would not be.

He should have known…the whites of his eyes, the preternaturalness of his power had corrupted him. No one had suspected it. Not even Tyrion, who had wanted to speak with the young seer, gain insight into his encompassing knowledge.He had fooled them all, under the guise of protecting the realm from the Night King… from the end of Westeros.

Ser Jamie Lannister, the _Kingslayer_, the _Oathbreaker, Man without honor _had arrived in Winterfell wearing his guilt like armor.The most unlikely of heroes in the most unlikely of places, looked up at the broken youth who haunted his conscience for so many years. _Surely, it was his reckoning_. Then, he survivedthe judgement of the Dragon Queen and Lady Sansa, another milestone crossed. His saving grace in the sapphire eyes of the one that loved him, believed in him, unwarranted. 

_Why him, again and again?_

He wasn’t pious, didn’t pray to the gods.In particular he didn’t care for _this god_, the one that had resurrected him from the grips of the Stranger. He was a maimed lion, old and forsaken.Jaime Lannister was a dishonorable man, a murderer in the eyes of every Westerosi House, making him undeserving of the title of knight. He owned no lands, had been stripped of his birthright.The worst of his sins, he had betrayed _her_ in the end.He had left _her_ there…in the cold of night, weeping.

> _She’s hateful. And so am I_. 

He was no one.

“You need to drink.You need to rest. Tomorrow awaits. The Lord has spoken. Do you dare deny him what he asks of you, _Kingslayer_?”

> _The word echoes in the room, the moniker that is forever his companion.His past and his future, his legacy and his curse…And for a moment he remembers it on her lips and it is a caress._
> 
> _The Kingslayer._
> 
> _Jaime. My name is Jaime_.

Taking smaller sips of the water, he turns to the woman, “I may as well please your lord. Perhaps I will get myself killed in the process and finally meet the Stranger. Whatharm to my soul, killing one more king? One who likes to get in my way.” He said it with all the arrogance of a Lannister, if only he believed it himself.

* * *


	3. Oathkeeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crow croaked near by, its beady black eyes seemed to be starring at her. Brienne glared back, losing focus on her task. She barely noticed, as the blade cut through the skin. Blood oozed from the slash, darkening the snow in Lannister red. She made a fist, making it gush. She welcomed the pain, knowing she was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not-beta—ed. You've been warned... This is the second version of Chapter 3.

** Chapter 3 **

* * *

Ser Brienne of Tarth…that was her title, her new identity. _He_ had made it so. Her childhood dream come true by the man besmirched by said bestowing honor. _Ser Jaime Lannister_, a paradoxical coalescence of broken oaths and good deeds left unsaid.

_You think I’m a good man?_

His last words to her were always there, tormenting her conscience. How to save a man who wanted to punish himself with his last breath? How to remove the invisible scars, only he could see from his innards? Brienne was not meant to save him…she was never going to conquer his worst foe, his self-abhorrence.  
  
_Stay with me._

It was stomach-turning to reminisce about their last moments together. The what ifs were driving her into madness. Could she simply have taken control and cobbler him over the head and taken him prisoner? Would that have saved his life and given them a future? Would Jaime forgive her for her well intended actions?

It was pointless now. 

Fate had taken over and her fears been fulfilled.The raven had arrived with the latest happenings from King’s Landing.The Queen’s Hand and Jon Snow were detained for treason…and the Usurper’s Queen and her traitor, twin brother were dead. The Lady of Winterfell and her brother, Brandon Stark were expected at the capital. 

Her eyes looked back to Pod, as he drilled a few northern soldiers.He had grown so much, another reminder of Jaime, of his many gifts to her…reminding her of _oaths_. 

His oaths. 

Her oaths.

_They make you swear and swear_…

Both had been sworn to their kings as Kingsguards, both had failed to protect them from their deaths, accused of assassinating their liege. It was the ultimate sin for a knight, to be branded as an _oathbreaker_. 

A _Kingslayer_. 

Her oath to Lady Catelyn Stark may have been accomplished, but at what cost? Lady Sansa was not whole, treated like a piece of meat for the amusement of men and their strive for power, a simple means to an end. And then there was Arya Stark, alive, but a shadow of her former self, stripped of her childhood innocence, with dark gray eyes that promised a swift death, if you asked for it.  _Not today._

Her Jaime was gone…his departure still felt like a weeping wound that will never heal.

_How different are we from each other, Jaime?_

Both were failures, in spite of their professed words. 

> _“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise, Brienne of Tarth a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”_

Oaths had joined them in their journey, his captivity, his maiming, his confessions of secret past, his commitment, his word true in her eyes…He was an honorable man, who taught her the folly of thinking in absolutes, showing her the in-betweens of life, how the grays were more than blind purity or blatant perversity.

* * *

The clash of swords, the stench of sweat and human waste surrounded her. Children ran freely, as they chased chickens, as their mothers scolded not to bother the soldiers and other workers repairing the structures of Winterfell. It was signs of life returning to the normal routine. 

Brienne kept moving the whetstone, the continuous motion grounding her to the present. There was no more fear of the Army of the Dead, no never-ending night and the promise of death. They had conquered death…and yet the sinking feeling in her stomach did not abate.

It was not finished.The war was on going in the South, the conquest for the Iron Throne.She still had duties to uphold. She would follow Lady Sansa, serve and protect her, until she was released from her vow, and return to Tarth as her father had requested. 

Unbidden her eyes closed and she was faraway from the frozen north, the land of white snow and gray skies. She could taste the briny breeze on her tongue, feel the sand on her toes. Home. For an instant she could see _him_ there with her, touching her cheek, whispering naughty things to make her blush. In the distance, her father was holding a small hand, a child with golden hair, toddling towards his parents, waving his other hand, showing them his beautiful smile. True happiness in his green eyes, as he kicked the coming waves on the shore.

_Jaime_.

It could have been their…future.

_His hand holding her hip. His lips brushing on her thighs. His sighs of pleasure on her neck.She could taste his sweat oh her tongue._

She would savor each of their memories…it was all she had left. A tears fell from her eyes, as she kept her head down hoping no one would notice it. Using her forearm, she dried the traces and kept her eyes downcast.

She realized not long after he left, his reason for coming north, to Winterfell. Jaime had kept vow to fight for the living, but he had also come to die…he had not expected to last the Long Night. He had protected her with her swing of his left hand, flanking her, making sure of her survival. Thinking back, it felt like he had no hope of a tomorrow…as if he knew his days were numbered.

* * *

A crow croaked near by, its beady black eyes seemed to be starring at her.Brienne glared back, losing focus on her task. She barely noticed, as the blade cut through the skin. Blood oozed from the slash, darkening the snow in Lannister red. She made a fist, making it gush. She welcomed the pain, knowing she was still alive.

She may be no Lady, but she was a knight. Her word would be her guiding light…the legacy of an—oathbreaker, a kingslayer, the one who decided to knight her on the eve of the greatest battle ever won—she would keep.

* * *


	4. The time is here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck the Seven.
> 
> Fuck the old gods.
> 
> Fuck the Lord of Light, their Red God.
> 
> Fuck the God of Flame and Shadow. 
> 
> Fuck this R’hllor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok...so I wrote this. I hope it makes sense and moves things a bit forward plotwise. Jaime got wordy and he felt the need to rant a bit over gods...
> 
> I will send this to a friend to read over, but this version posted is un-beta'd.

**Chapter 4**

* * *

_Fuck the Seven._

_Fuck the old gods._

_Fuck the Lord of Light, their Red God._

The red priestess had done all she could. Jaime Lannister still drew breath, still a one-handed, dishonorable knight, who was too late in preventing for a second time the annihilation of whole city at the hands of a ruler’s madness. 

Kinvara was cleaning the pots and storing the special poultice used on his wounds.Her red dress draped all over her shoulders, covering her body to his eyes. It felt like a crimson shroud. 

She would die for her god, her believe so in this elusive god, so strong. Jaime had never believed in anything, only in his bond to his twin, in his obligation to protect his family. And yet… Where was his family? Each of its members were dust. Only his brother Tyrion supposedly still lived in the capital as a prisoner or a hostage. He had failed in protecting everyone he loved, including Brienne.His last honorable deed had been seeing the light in her eyes as she rose a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.

Jaime Lannister was no longer a young, vigorous man, his constant companion the aches in his joints, always so tired. His body so battered, scarred and feeble. It was inconceivable that he was meant for a god’s mission of salvation. All he wanted to do was wither and drink his remaining days away in some forgotten wasteland in the Free Cities.

_Fuck the God of Flame and Shadow_. 

The flames had revealed…something to him. It had to be the fever or the watered wine Kinvara pushed on him. What he had seen was not of this world. Thoros. Dondarrion. Clegane. All of these men had seen things in the flames, making them follow this god, and each had ended up dying…_Fuck this R’hllor_.

The vision tormented him every time he closed his eyes. The false King was not to be left unrestrained. His power was never meant to walk among men. His counterpart eliminated as Death conquered it, leaving an archaic sapience, which had fallen to obscurity within the sacred Heart Tree of the Children of the Forest, be liberated of its constraints. The old Three-Eyed Raven had been obliterated, before completing his mentorship, therefore dying before imparting his final wisdoms on the broken, young Stark. 

The flames spoke of warnings left unsaid…no one was meant to live with this mythical force, least of all, become ruler over men. The Greenseer known as the Three-Eyed Raven possesses supernatural gifts, like the his most advantageous ability of slipping through time, learning about the past, present and future.The most dangerous of his gifts, the warging, made Bran the King, be able to commandeer beasts to do his bidding. The last living dragon would become his most powerful ally. King’s Landing would not be the last city burned to a cinder.

Jaime gagged as he recalled the smell of charred flesh. The anguishing memories were too numerous, as they kept branding momentous events of his life, like the Mad King, and his obsession with wildfire, the destruction of the Sept of Baylor, bringing back the volatile nature of rulers, his queen and green flames consuming anything in its path. Lastly, the dragon queen and her decimation of the Lannister army on the Battle of the Goldroad. 

Burned bodies would not end with the end of the dragon queen. Bran the Broken will use Drogon to assure his power against anyone who dared challenge his authority. It no longer mattered if the Targaryen dynasty had become extinct with the assassination of Daenerys I. No one would be spared, everyone would be compelled to bend the knee.

_Fuck the King_.

He dried heaved, nothing left to be expelled from his body. His eyes had not dried up, as he felt the tears rolling down his lined face. He had no right to grieve. His men had died in honor. He was the one who deserved no reprieve. A coward. A man with no honor. A kingslayer. A betrayer. A nobody. A Lion of the Rock no more…

“Are you done with your lamenting? The Lord demands greatness out his chosen. The time is near and you must obey…You have seen _It_. There is no other who is fit to stand between _It_ and the rest of our fate. Only she and sword, you and yours, must be there to consummate your destinies. The rest, our lord will provide. The past is spent. You cannot undue your faults, embrace them and make them new. The lady warrior, her heart is pure and she will _see_. Your lady has always seen beyond what others perceive. It is why she loves you, not for your beauty, not for your prowess as a knight, not for your judgment or morality, but for your ability to love the unloved.” 

Unloved.

Tyrion.

The smallfolk of King’s Landing.

The Maid of Tarth.

His mouth tasted acidic and he took the cup, downing water. He spat it out and drank again. He could feel the woman’s gaze. She was waiting for his corresponding sneer.

_Fuck the Red Priestess_.

“Has your god devised a plan on how we are to find Lady Brienne in the aftermath of war? Do you even know if the Stark hasn’t seen it already? Do you know his words to me? He made sure I would do everything accordingly, make him the successor. I helped make this boy into an eerie vessel to inhabited by unfathomable omnipotence. I am guilty of murdering Brandon Stark, by my sword hand as it pushed him from a tower. His fate is my doing and I acknowledge my responsibility in ending his reign. What I do not accept is damning Brienne with this curse…I will surely die trying, but she was not at fault. She fulfilled her vows to Lady Stark.”

The woman turned, stared at the flames letting the warmth and the cracking of the embers be his answer for a while. “You are a man of little faith, a sinner. You are not worthy, but our lord as spoken clearly. You need to abide and do as the Lord demands. I will not say it again. There are two, one as pure as snow, the other disgraced and stained. Both shall join, their hearts as one, with twin swords ablaze in the darkness, will triumph over the Greenseer and his crows. A new world will be resurged from the ashes, a phoenix honoring all that has been lost. Our lord will finally be declared as the one true god. It will bring the death of every false worship in the lands. Your sword, the lady warrior’s sword must meet again and blinding light will grow, no premonition will come to his whiten eyes. Trust R’hllor, the One who has granted your life, Jaime Lannister. We must depart, I will be with you until it is required of me. The rest shall be done.”

He nodded, thus ending the discussion. Kinvara left him alone, to his pondering the vision, replaying behind his eyelids. He had seen the swords, blue flames covering the blades. It did not burn his hand. The light showing him the way, Brienne was by his side, her azure eyes glowing as beacons of truth. She was the pure knight and he was the besmirched, unworthy soldier, both beckoned to protect, to honor a vow made in the faith of the Seven…yet here was this god asking for their service.

Brienne was honorable and she would face the battle ahead, that who the wench was through and through. How was he going to face her? He had broken her heart and her trust. Made her word a mockery in front of the Lady of Winterfell. Seeing her again and asking for assistance, as he was accompanied by a red priestess, who worshiped the blood magic that killed her precious Renly…that was absurdity.He would gladly offer his neck for her sword to swing and exert her justice.

_I am coming, Brienne._

The Three-Eyed Raven sat on his chair, starring at his conquered city. The council meeting adjourned, accords met, titles given, deadlines set, all terribly dull everyday kingdom obligations. He rubbed his eyes and felt the presence of someone in the room, a little person waiting to be noticed. 

“Lord Tyrion, please come in…take what you need and let’s continue. I can sense there is more on your mind.”

The dwarf shuffled on his feet and stepped towards the decanter, filling the cup to the very top. He risked spilling the Arbor Gold all over his pristine Hand of the King robes. 

“Your Grace…I wanted to express my gratitude for granting me this position despite my past mistakes. I know it has come as a great burden to accept this responsibility, to be in charge of the Seven Kingdoms. I never imagined this would be the outcome…”

Bran glanced at his Hand, “There were many ways of the future, each one determined by a choice. Jon Snow made his and here we are. He would have been the heir rightfully so, but his conscience demanded his banishment beyond the Wall. He will be live among the free folk and find some contentment. Unfortunately, he will not be free of his past deeds.”

Tyrion drank the last of the wine and refilled his cup. Jon Snow had sacrificed everything for the realm. He had accepted the burden and taken the queen, his lover, life. He was not arrogant or boastful for liberating King’s Landing of the dragon queen’s vengeance. For it had been her folly to conquer her people with death and violence. The population of King’s Landing had known both, endured and survived it for decades. It would do so again.

“My Lord Hand I wanted to ask if you wished for my interference in granting the annulment of your union with Lady of Winterfell, under the faith of the Seven. My dear sister will need to ensure the future of House Stark, therefore her marital status must be declared now that the surviving houses can begin making alliances. Westeros needs rebirth between its people.”

At the mention of his failed marriage to Sansa Sark, Tyrion almost dropped his goblet. It felt like a deliberate strike from his liege. As much as he tried, something always felt amiss when in the presence of his king. It was farce of politeness and duty, orders to be uphold, accepted and carried out in favor of emerging restoration and peace around the Seven Kingdoms. His gut heaved and held his side. 

“I plead for your forgiveness, I may need to stop drinking as it does not agree with me recently. I will speak with Lady Sansa on this concern and reconvene with your Grace.”

He took his bow and stepped out of the king’s chambers, the dread inside his body receding. He walked in the direction of the maester, when he saw Pod and his Lady Ser standing by the locked door of Lady Sansa’s rooms.

“Ser Podrick and Ser Brienne how fortunate to find you this afternoon. How is the Lady Sansa faring after such a long council session? I believe she won’t have to endure them for long, as she will return to Winterfell.”

Pod kept his eyes downcast, deferring to his knight. Brienne grimaced at the his sudden presence, her cheeks painted red, “Lord Tyrion, may I speak with you? I have matters…questions—“

“You may come to my chambers, Lady—Ser Brienne. My door is always open to you…I owe you a great debt…He should have never left Winterfell. A fool to his very end—“

Brienne held her hand, shook her, causing him to stop his apology. “It is not your apology I seek…W-where i-is _his_ s-sword?”

Tears welled in her eyes, as she beseeched him for an answer. She needed something tangible that proved he was gone. Arriving in King’s Landing, to its devastation only confirmed the end of a war for the Iron Throne. No body of Jaime Lannister was recovered, presumed to have been consumed in dragon fire under the Red Keep.

Tyrion grasped her trembling hand, “I have Jaime’s sword. He left it behind…I aided his escape. In our last moments together he was trying to convince himself that what he was doing was the right thing. Loyalty to his House, to his family, to his sister, his queen…I-I will regret my part in his end. Cersei was beyond redemption, not even with child could she see her thirst for power would end with death.”

Brienne dropped his hand, her eyes staring hard at his whispered words. Child…she had been with child and Jaime did not use this against her, in his cruel tirade. Her throat clenched and she felt lightheaded. He had lied by omission, keeping this from her. He was a man who left her, to save his child, and yes, his sister, who happened to be the mother. 

“Ser? I can keep watch and you may go with Lord Tyrion,” Podrick muttered, as he nodded to the Hand, trying to persuade them to leave and continue their exchange in private. 

It was a bit pointless, with a King that could see everything, no need of a network of birds giving information to the Masters of Whispers. Eyes were always open, a raven croaked as it settled on the windowsill. Brienne felt its presence, the eyes penetrating, as if digging inside her mind. She accepted Pod’s offer and left him in charge of guarding their lady.

“There are eyes everywhere…Varys would have been jealous. I miss his calm disposition and his astute manipulation of words. A man of many talents, the Spider, certainly deserved better than to be burned alive for his crime. In the end, he was proven correct. Mhysa had lost her way and become the enraged conquerer.”

Brienne looked back, as if making sure the apparition stayed behind. Her stomach roiled with hunger. She had neglected to eat something, which explained why she almost fainted. The cold gnawing inside left her, too.

“I believe we have much to discuss, Lord Tyrion.”

He gave her his Lannister smile, charming and boastful, “You should come to visit me often before your return to Winterfell. We should say what needs to, in order to finally say our farewell to Jaime. I want to do right by you, Ser Brienne. If having _Widow’s Wail_ is a way to make amends, I will give you the sword. No one else deserves…He would have wanted you to keep it with you, with its twin. They were one once, truly intended to be one…a vow between knights. He gave you _Oathkeeper_, you fulfilled an oath and gave him purpose in his last days of glory. I do not need Valyrian steel. Give me wine and intrigue any day, but I sense there is more…on your mind…it is troubling you, Lady Brienne. Unburden yourself, you may trust me. No crows in here.”

Brienne cleared her throat, hoping to say the right words, “The crows are everywhere, not far behind, always looking. Every single one of these beings fills like it wants to invade my soul, take something from within. It does not settle, this feeling of unease, of being watched. I do not envy your position, Lord Tyrion. I will hope that once on our way to Winterfell, this disturbance remains here. It was there before we left…I could sense it. It was always watching. It was there that day. When I found out y-your brother had not survived. I will honor the oath I swore to my Lady, to your brother, and I’ll keep his sword in his memory.” 

Tears spilled from both their eyes, their mutual grief taking over. Tyrion beckoned a servant to fetch fresh bread and cheese with some Dornish Red. Reluctantly, Brienne accepted his invitation to eat with him. 

The door abruptly crashed opened, a Gold Cloak, a member of the restored City Watch, stumbled in, “My Lord Hand…Pardon the intrusion, we found a golden hand, but no remains. There is evidence that may indicate the Kingslayer may have been taken elsewhere—”

The goblet fell to the floor, spilling the precious wine. Brienne could not hold her sob. Tyrion gazed at her, both of them full of hope. He quickly took control, “You only come to me. No stops. This must to leave this room. Whoever has seen this, is sworn to silence or face the Black Cells. If the King does not know, I will inform him in due time. We need confirmation. Ser Brienne and I will personally inspect the scene. No one word to anyone else on the Council. You may wait outside. We will be with you shortly.”

As one, they fell to their knees, wine staining their britches. Tyrion took her shaking hands, “Brienne…I do not want for this to be a disappointment. It may turn out to be nothing. If Jaime lives…it is dangerous for all of us. He will always be a threat to the crown. You may keep his sword…I will keep his _hand_. Whenever you are ready, Ser Brienne.”

A commotion in the hall, alerted them that their time was limited. The guard stayed in place as they appeared, servants were running and hollering about an omen of death.

“What’s all this brouhaha, Mia? Why are you all running around like headless chickens?”

The young servant curtsied, “The black birds…they are dying, milord. No one knows why they are dropping all over the keep. It is Death once more coming for King’s Landing.” 

_ The crows, his eyes everywhere were dying, for the first time, the Cyvasse board was not in favor of the one with the Sight. A broken man sat blind with no visions of past, present and future.  _

Kinvara stared at the dying flame, revealing its secrets, wisps of smoke from the remains of her enchantment.

“It is done. We travel on the morrow, Lannister. The time is _here_.”

* * *


	5. Words are wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The time has come. And all of us must act for I do not think the gods will grant us another opportunity…Lady Sansa is in danger and I believe the Realm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not-beta—ed. You've been warned...

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Brienne stared at the golden hand. The only remaining piece of the man known all throughout Westeros as the Kingslayer…the man she had said was a good man. She closed her eyes, remembering the last time she touched his face, drawn in, closed off. His mind already made up. Nothing she said would change his set course towards his death, his sister and mother of his future child…

It was still there, the silence between them. The gaping abyss that she would never cross. She was not Cersei. She was not a Lannister. She was no beauty. A whole lifetime of secrets and lies that held them together. Brienne of Tarth was the antithesis of Cersei of the House Lannister, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.

And yet…nothing remained of her. The queen had died, along with her brother, her other half, as she had declared it would be so — a self proclaimed prophesy — they were born together and died together.

Tyrion glared at the blood stains on the ground. His fists at his sides, he turned to Brienne, “If my brother…if Jaime had asked you accompany him on his fool’s errand would you have broken your oath to Lady Sansa? Would you have left Winterfell for him?”

They had been left alone, at what was left of the last place Cersei and Jaime had drawn their last breath. Brienne felt the urge to leave the tomb of unspoken promises, of a future torn from all of them. They were the last standing, mourning their loved ones. She did not want to hope. His blood was there. His hand left behind, no longer needed. Jaime was free from this world.

_Warrior have mercy…He may have forgotten his way, but you must have seen his heart, like I did…Oh, please…_

“Y-yess.”

Both of them loved each other, had loyalty and honor binding them together, unfortunately in different directions. She would have broken her sacred vow for Jaime. If only he would kept Jaime tied to that post…made different choices. Her eyes were truly majestic, astonishingly blue. There was no lie reflected in their depths and it was no wonder why she had captured his brother’s heart. Only a transparent soul like hers could ever be capable of soothing a fractured, torment spirit battling with his conscience.

The Hand cleared a path and saw what the guards had found as the possible of evidence, drag marks. Someone had taken a body out of the bowels of the Red Keep. He would have taken them both if he had not been taken prisoner by order of his former queen. Treason. Yes, he had been guilty of it. Still, Tyrion Lannister was alive and once more the Hand of another King…one that inspired dread rather than loyalty. 

His sister’s bloated, decomposing body was displayed for all to see, before being cremated by dragon fire. Beside her, charred remains of what was presumed to be Ser Jaime Lannister, in his last attempt to save his queen, fitting end to his treason.

“I aided in his escape from the camp. He wanted to try and stop the siege, keep the queens from destroying King’s Landing in their mutual quests to claim the Iron Throne. Jaime knew about the caches of wildfire underground…they blew up as Drogon drew his fiery breath over the city. The screams…the stench of human flesh burning…the destruction. I should be dead. We all should be. He knew and he did nothing…And we let him sit and rule over us, all knowing and beguiling. A broken man born out of an unjust act, done by my brother’s love. Jaime…fucking Jaime…always him. The Golden Lion, the Heir of Casterly Rock, the one my father loved above all his children…the gods made him their pawn, their smiling knight.”

Footsteps alerted them to the presence of others, Ser Davos and Ser Bronn, their faces concerned and distressed. “Lord Hand, we need you at once…the King has requested the Maester. Some unknown ailment has befallen his Grace. He has asked for your presence, to keep the peace and assure him that things shall be done as requested. No word shall be discussed outside of the Keep, to stir unsubstantiated rumors.”

Ser Bronn smirked at Brienne, trying to get her attention. It made her skin crawl at his blatant disregard for propriety. “You came to see were the bloody fool killed himself with his cunt of sister right besides, eh? Never understood his obsession in wanting to die in the arms of the woman he loved. Do not fret, Ser Brienne, others are willing to warm your bed if you ever need so—”

Ser Davos glared, as Lord Tyrion interrupted, calling forth the guard meant to keep their meeting private. “We asked not to be disturbed, this was not meant for other eyes to see…Do you not know how to follow simple orders?”

Tyrion was beyond vexed. He needed time to think of what they had seen in that crypt. He hunched and picked the golden hand. His eyes spied the reactions of the interlopers. The uneasiness of Ser Davos and the nervous laugh from Bronn, more to ponder…It seemed there was more to be discussed between the Hand, Ser Davos Seaworth and Ser Bronn of Blackwater. 

“You are dismissed from your post. I will request another guard to be assigned to this particular duty. You are sworn to secrecy for all you have witness here,” Tyrion nodded to the guard, dismissing him immediately from their presence. “What has befallen his Grace exactly?”

Just as Ser Davos was trying to explain, Bronn interjected, “He’s fucked. Blinded. Just as the fucking ravens started falling dead all over the keep. He started to jerk on his chair, having a fit. His eyes completely white, but seeing nothing beyond as he does. He is just a bloody man now. A fucking crippled, blind man to be exact, Lord Hand,” giving Tyrion a mocking curtsey. 

Tyrion looked at each of them, Brienne lost in her thoughts, eyes reddened with unshed tears, Ser Davos’ twitching eyebrows and Ser Bronn’s always the japer. “The time has come. And all of us must act for I do not think the gods will grant us another opportunity…Lady Sansa is in danger and I believe the Realm.”

The rocking of the ship should be reassuring to Jaime. He was no longer heaving the contents of his stomach. His body was miraculously healing, leaving scars as reminders of his past life. He had been granted a second one by a god he did not worship. 

Finally, they were getting closer to their objective, get to Westeros, to the capital. Kinvara kept silent, leaving him to his self appointed mental torture. She was done with her words and spells.The flames had revealed that two knights would bring the end of the broken king. 

Jaime fit the description of one of the knights, having being infamous for killing Aerys II, the Mad King soiling his white cloak forever…no honorable knight after the fact. The other knight, Ser Brienne of Tarth, pure as snow, loyal to a fault, never to have broken a vow.

It was iniquitous that this Red God wanted him to persuade the Maid of Tarth to join him one last time…a maid no longer, in one last act of treason to spill the blood of a Stark, a broken oath to a dead mother. The entity had bound them in this pursuit. An orchestrated manipulation that implied their lives were not their own. They were simply puppets to be used at the gods leisure. This realization only brought him simmering rage, being incapable of protecting Brienne from this destiny.

What words could he say to dissuade Ser Brienne from keeping her oath to Lady Catelyn Stark? What could he use against her sense of righteousness? What underhanded argument could the Kingslayer use to disarm the Sapphire Knight?

_Stay here_.

_Stay with me_.

She had tried her best to dissuade him and still he had left her on that cold morning after greedily having her one last time. Her lips had been the last he had kissed. She would never know that. He may have died with Cersei in his arms, but she was not the one he loved with his last breath. 

_Words are wind_. 

His Brienne deserved actions. She was not truly his…He had no right to claim her, even if she was never touched again by another.

_You sound quite jealous_. 

Just thinking of it, made his blood boil. No, he had right to be. Brienne had chosen him. He had taken her maidenhead with no thought of their future, of the consequences, of what it meant for both of them. He acted impulsively, in love and in lust, after believing he was not going to live through the Long Night…there would not be an afterwards.

Fucking words had taken over. He had accepted them and lived accordingly. Jaime Lannister did not fear death, the Stranger be damned along with this red fucker who wanted to use him. Death had claimed him and spat him back. Something the bastard Snow and him had in common, killing rulers and coming back from the afterlife of nothingness. 

Dying had been easy, no fanfare or justice from the gods for his past deeds. It had been sweet oblivion.

His rebirth at the hands of the Red Priestess, that had been excruciating, feeling returning to his limbs, spatting out all the dead blood and learning the truth from her voluptuous lips.

He gazed at the mysterious woman, cloak covering from head to toe. Kinvara believed strongly in her path. Her trust in her god unwavering. Knowing her faith would deliver her. She was a true fanatic that had brought him back, ensured him to do the unfathomable. Seeing her mindless loyalty, made Jaime remember his cousin Lancel and how he had fallen into the faith militant of the Sparrows. 

No, he would not bend to this god. He was a still a Lion and not be confused with the rest of the sheep. When the time came he would slay the woman. No more dead men should be brought back from the void.

Even after every sin relived in his mind, Jaime yearned to see his lady knight, stare into her crystalline eyes, glimpsing into her heart. Only now it would reflect his taint, the pain and heartache he had inflected on her innocence.

_Stay with me_…Brienne only had one selfish act. Her love for him demanded of her to protect him, to shield him from his past and his broken oaths, but most of all, the harrowing end that would inevitable cease the reign of his twin. She had begged, hoping her love would be enough, that she would be enough to hold him, to keep him in Winterfell. 

His words, his actions in return had severed their brief liaison. No words he could say would repay for each of her tears. Not broken, never a simple woman, his Brienne would have brushed the tear tracks from her cheeks and straighten her shoulders. No man would ever bend her warrior spirit. And this essence would have to be enough. 

Jaime had to accept he was not going to King’s Landing to find Brienne and ask forgiveness. He was not brought back for a second chance…not really. He was being used by selfish magical means, supposedly approved by a powerful deity. Yes, he had seen the flames and accepted his fate. It didn’t mean he was not going to question its motives. 

_What was the endgame?_

If only he could speak with her brother one more time…Tyrion would be able to see the connections, more than anyone else. Taking a drink from his goblet, he stood from the chair and walked to the skylight. It was night and he could see the stars, a beautiful clear night. Each day closer and closer to an unknown end. 

“Your Brienne is there…in King’s Landing, and so are both your swords. Everything needed is awaiting for your arrival. No eyes can unveil it. I will make sure you enter the city and no one will stop you, like a shadow in the night. The rest is up to you, Ser Jaime. The swords ablaze in flames of red and azure, wielded in the hands of the truest knights whom survived and conquered the Dead come to vanquish the Greenseer, becoming _Lightbringers_. You will become Ser Goldenhand the Just, redeemed in the Light of our Lord.”

Kinvara left him some stale and moldy bread on the table and closed the door. He preferred to be in solitude, just in case he felt compelled to slit her throat before getting to King’s Landing. Like right this very moment after one of her mad ravings. He had seen it, in fever dreams. It did not make it so. 

One thing was true though, there were no ravens flying for miles. The black magic had worked with some drops of his damned blood and _R’hllor_ had taken a seat at the table and pushed the Cyvasse board off it.

* * *


	6. Widow's Wail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa glared at the flames, “The Three-Eyed Raven sees everything and has wielded us all to his favor. Winterfell was not enough to lord over, as the male heir of House Stark. Whatever is left of my brother wants more…And when will it be sufficient to appease his thirst? His actions remind me of someone who taught me many lessons—never settle for less, to rise above, to climb—the man I speak of wanted the highest seat, Littlefinger wanted the Iron Throne with me beside him, as his queen. Seduction, schemes, greed and arrogance were his downfall. King’s Landing will always be crawling with starving rats foaming at the mouth.”

** **

**Chapter 6**

* * *

The pain was excruciating. Nothing could stop it. The King kept fidgeting from side to side, mumbling nonsense. Sam touched King Bran’s burning skin with a wet rag, hoping to alleviate the rising fever. The other maester had tried every potion written and even suggested bloodletting as a possible treatment. They had no clue as to the sudden onset of the febrile disease.

The food and drink had been tested with no outstanding result. No one else had fallen ill, only the Broken King. Just as strangely, the ravens had fallen dead from the skies all around the Red Keep. Word of mouth between the smallfolk, indicated it happened elsewhere. King’s Landing had no crows flying and it seemed no ravens would be coming from the Citadel to aid them. 

“Meera! Hodor! Jojen! Nooooo! Please, do not leave me! It comes for me!”

This outburst came clear out the King’s mouth. Sam did not understand its meaning. Meera had come to Winterfell with Bran, but soon left to join her father, Howland Reed. It was not clear if they had survived the White Walkers at Greywater Watch, more likely than not. That Hodor had not survived beyond the Wall, neither did Jojen Reed.

The white eyes were troubling enough. No irises had returned, no dark eyes staring blank into his soul. Sam grimaced, feeling useless as he kept washing the rag in the bowl and applying it to the clammy skin of the King. Currently, more broken and blinded of all sense, tormented in fever dreams of the past. 

A knock at the door alerted of the presence of the King’s chosen Hand, Lord Tyrion. The dwarf walked with a limp, his clothes stained with soot and dust. He had been summoned by the King before losing consciousness.

“Sam, what is the King’s condition? Do we need to request assistance from the Citadel? Is there anything more you can do?”

Dropping the used cloth, Sam turned to the Hand, “There is very little we can do, without knowing with certainty what is afflicting his Grace. We have discarded food and drink as the cause of his illness. The fever has not broken. We fear the worst is not over. He may become completely senseless. I cannot assure you of a positive outcome, my Lord Hand. We have given him water and drops of milk of the poppy.”

Tyrion nodded, “This must not leave this chamber. It will only cause unrest in the Kingdoms. Everyone needs to feel reassured the Realm is in good hands, that peace will prevail, that famine will not follow after years and years of warfare. I will convene with the Small Council. I ask that you say as little as possible about what ails our King. No one should fear the least favorable outcome. Any change…please do not hesitate to come for me, Tarly.”

The remaining person in the room, the other maester went to sit by the window, exhausted and defeated. Sam walked and stared at the grounds bellow. Servants were cleaning the carcasses of the ravens, to be disposed of in fire pit. Unexpectedly, he got an inkling, “Do you suppose there could be a connection between his Grace’s ailment and the dead ravens, Maester Percival? I think we should request one be sent for us to inspect more closely…”

“If you think it is wise to do so, Tarly. We are out of possible causes…the King is at the mercy of the Seven.”

* * *

“What the fuck did you do with Jaime’s corpse? Do not try to deny it. Both of you knew the exact place…you both had been there before. I want to know now! Explain yourselves, Ser Davos? Bronn?”

The men in question looked intently at each other, daring who would spill the truth. Finally, Seaworth replied, “I had seen it before…the Red Woman resurrected Jon Snow after being stabbed by his own men. Snow came back, remembering everything, walking and talking normal. Of course, he had been preserved by the cold at the Wall, in Castle Black. I stood guard over his corpse, with Ghost. No one dared to take him from the direwolf—”

Tyrion held his hand, “This is all so fascinating, but what does it matter in regard to Jaime? Melisandre died with the Long Night.”

Bronn guffawed, “Dondarrion, that old cunt was revived many times by the drunken priest, Thoros of Myr. These people worship another god, the Red one who grants visions in the flames, demands bloody sacrifices and apparently brings people back from the dead. This one was convinced it could be done again for your fucking fool of a brother. I helped him out, thinking it was better to see two Lannister, than one dwarf left behind. Besides, he still owes me. And I want to see his handsome face meet his Lady-Ser’s fists.”

Even Tyrion had to hold his snickers, “I see it is all about your own selfish needs for entertainment and gold purse. You have your titles and more gold than you can imagine…Why try to save Jaime? Why, Ser Davos?”

Seaworth shrugged, “I reckon too much death has resulted of kings and queens fighting over the Iron Throne. Your brother wanted a peaceful end to the siege and died for it. He fought the Long Night alongside men, not Lannister or for the Crown, proving himself worthy to us all. He knighted Lady Brienne, giving her something no else would have, the rightful place in the history of Knighthood. I felt compelled to right a wrongful death…and Lady Arya’s ‘Not today_' _inspired me. She said Ser Jaime wasn’t on her list.” Ser Davos glared at Bronn, as he scoffed at his words, “The lady assassin did not stop us,” Bronn moved through the room in search of wine, leaving Davos to explain the rest. “I used my connections at the port and found a ship, smuggled your brother’s body out of King’s Landing, in route to the Free Cities, far from the reaches of Grey Worm’s Unsullied and the Dothraki horde still thirsty for Lannister blood. The Red Woman was not the last of the faithful to R’hllor…”

Tyrion remembered what he had seen in the Free Cities along side Varys, priestesses talking to the masses about the Lord of Light. He had even met one in Mereen, preaching about Daenerys Targaryen as _ the one who was promised, from the fire reborn to remake the world_…So much for prophecy and gods.

“Do you know if the dark magic worked? Is my brother among the living? I cannot speak with Ser Brienne without confirmation…The Lady deserves the truth. I owe her an explanation…She saw the hand—”

Bronn emptied the goblet and refilled it, dropping the decanter and spilling the red liquid. “Lannisters and their debts…What do you owe the Lady Knight? She only had eyes for your cunt brother. I saw it. Pod and every Lannister soldier who was at Riverrun saw it. And lest we forget he knighted her, might as well have married right then at Winterfell. I’ve heard the songs enough at the taverns. Ser Brienne was left in the cold winter by the Kingslayer to save his queen…There is nothing that change the truth. If he draws breath, I bet my left nut, the former Maid of Tarth will slit his throat to make sure he is dead and burnt him to ashes. Never fuck around with a woman scorned.”

Tyrion grunted and glared at the former sellsword, while Ser Davos sighed, “I do not know if the ritual was a success. I await for news, but no ravens are coming at the moment. The damn birds have suddenly dropped dead all over. I am a man of action and I believe in being straightforward, Lord Hand. Tell what we have said and let Ser Brienne make her own mind.”

Gulping down his own cup, Tyrion gazed at the men, so different and yet both had done something extraordinary. If only it had worked…Jaime alive somewhere this very moment. He reminded of the need of secrecy, “It goes without saying that this shall be kept within us. I will speak with Ser Brienne. She asked for something and I am still beholden to her request. Later, Sers. For my position demands of me, it is never done.” Having being dismissed, both knights left the Hand’s Tower, not before Bronn gave his last quip, “It’s the sword she wants…Widow’s Wail to be united once more to hers. A knight with a maiden heart’s still. What a cunt, if I ever saw one! If your brother is alive I might just champion the Lady-Knight for her honor.”

Tyrion grinned at his old friend, “She does not need the likes of you to restore her honor, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, Lord of Highgarden, and Master of Coin. Here’s to hoping he is alive enough to meet her one day and live to tell the tale afterwards!”

He filled to the brim both of their drinks, then both of the men downed their cups, while Seaworth smiled enjoying the high spirits that had suddenly befallen them. There was hope in their hearts. He felt like the gods, the old, the new and even the fucking red one may grant them absolution after all. 

Tyrion stared at the closed door. He kept procrastinating the inevitable. He knew this was the opportune moment. The mist of dread had been lifted by the hasty death of ravens and the King’s illness. It was time to act, to move the pieces…the game of thrones had to ended with the destruction of the Iron Throne.

With a deep breath he finally found the courage to knock twice and stepped back. The door opened revealing the face of his former wife, Lady Sansa, dressed in majestic tones of grays, with her Tully blue eyes penetrating his soul. How he wished things had gone better between them…He remembered holding her hand in the crypts at Winterfell. They were both survivors, contenders in the game. They had fought well, learned from their mistakes…Together they would be unstoppable. Tyrion shook his head, and bowed.

“My Lady, I have come to speak with you, but I also I see that Ser Brienne is here…I have what you asked…And I have important information to disclose. The King is currently indisposed and I will be attending all matters. Therefore, I advise that you be escorted back to Winterfell…I-I fear for you safety, my Lady. Things are not as we thought—“

“Speak plainly, my Lord. We were wed once and have trusted each other since. I sense there is more you want to say…As Starks, we are bound to our family, to loyalty. The pack survived even after the deaths of our parents, Robb, Rickon…the Boltons betraying the North and taking Winterfell. I have survived being bartered off to the Bolton bastard. I stand before you as the Lady of Winterfell, you will say your words, Lord Hand. Does this have to do with my brother’s otherness?”

A moment of silence, only their eyes speaking through the truth to be confessed. Brienne lowered her gaze, feeling like an interloper, but stayed in place waiting for her lady’s command. Widow’s Wail was within grasp and her heart clenched, seeing it intact. The only real thing she would have of _ him _.

Lady Sansa finally broke the lull, “Even after everything, you keep your vows to me…Lord Husband. It is unfortunate, but the truth is my brother, Brandon Stark died years ago, a broken boy after a near fatal fall. One you were accused of perpetrating by my mother…It was not you. We have been intertwined by fate. What the gods want I do not know. I say this, I will return to Winterfell, not as simply its Lady. I declare as the Queen of the North. We will not bow to kings or queens of the South. We have sacrificed enough for your kingdom. Your King and his words have revealed his true intentions. I am not blind anymore and will protect my people I do not envy your position, as Hand, you are responsible for the Realm, for Westeros.” 

Sansa glared at the flames, “The _ Three-Eyed Raven _ sees everything and has wielded us all to his favor. Winterfell was not enough to lord over, as the male heir of House Stark. Whatever is left of my brother wants more…And when will it be sufficient to appease his thirst? His actions remind me of someone who taught me many lessons—never settle for less, to rise above, to climb—the man I speak of wanted the highest seat, Littlefinger wanted the Iron Throne with me beside him, as his queen. Seduction, schemes, greed and arrogance were his downfall. King’s Landing will always be crawling with starving rats foaming at the mouth.” 

She turned to face him once more, “As acting King, this may the only opportunity granted to amend slights committed in the past. My place is in Winterfell, as the last Stark. Jon has left us, upholding the judgement of his crime. Arya will always be free, nothing will hold her down…It falls on me to safeguard the North. I besiege that as the Hand of the King, declare the North as an independent kingdom. The rest of the realm is in your capable hands, to look after.” 

With her hand she beckoned her sworn sword forward, “Ser Brienne you have served me well, with honor and dedication. Regardless of Ser Jaime’s last deeds…You both fought for Winterfell, for the North, for the living. He did honor that vow to you. I ask of you now that you stay behind…here in King’s Landing, to protect Lord Tyrion. We are living decisive times and I only trust you to keep him safe. As for me, Ser Podrick will protect me, as you have said, he is a true knight, taught by the best knight of all Westeros.”

Brienne fell to her knees in front of her lady, tears sprung suddenly, “Have I failed you in anyway, my Lady? Please…I ask that you forgive my shortcomings. Do not banish me from my duty. I swore an oath to your mother, to protect her daughters—” Sansa caressed her forehead and bowed to kiss her cheek, “You will take Ser Jaime’s sword, bind it at your hip, right beside yours, an oath so strong, no mortal can break it. You have sworn to protect the innocent, hence, your place is here, in King’s Landing, where you are most needed. As for my wayward sister…Arya is gone, the gods only know where. I will not worry over wellbeing. She is most able to survive on her own, with her list done and her conscience to bear. Something tells me Arya will find her way home…where storm’s end.”

Tyrion own eyes welled with unshed tears. He felt his unworthiness in light of the devotion shared between these women. _ Jaime, my brother, you are a cur, _he thought. To right the wrongs…too many wrongs done. He could do one mend, restore the sword to its befitting owner.

“I will take my leave, my Lord, until we meet again. Ser Brienne, please take as much time as needed to prepare,” as Lady Sansa strode across the threshold, departing her chambers. The door closed behind her, leaving the Hand and the knight staring at the ground, both pensive at the implication of Lady Sansa’s words.

“Do I pledge my sword, my fealty to you, Lord Tyrion?” Brienne was ready to kneel once more, with her hand on the pommel of Oathkeeper, but Tyrion shook his head already dissenting, “No, my Lady Brienne. I know your _ word _ is true. This sword I bring to you…As your Queen declared, an oath none shall break…My brother should have taken you to the weirwood tree and in front of the old gods honored you as his wife. I hope that by returning this sword to its pair, I make amends to his dishonoring you, m-my Lady.” 

He voice cracked, overwhelmed with emotions, knowing his next words will hurt her deeply, “I have some disturbing news…about Jaime. His remains were shipped from King’s Landing, by Ser Davos with help from Bronn. Seaworth hoped for a miracle, as he had seen it before done with Jon Snow in the North, a resurrection by the Red Woman.”

Brienne cannot hold her sob, as her body rebelled with each word, her knees wobbled and her stomach lurched making queasy. She held herself against the desk nearby and swallowed the urge to retch. The conflicting emotions swept over her, blood magic had taken her king, Renly from her, by the hand of the Red priestess, who had declared Stannis as the rightful king. And now she was to trust the same dark magic would return Jaime from the seven hells, from the bowels of the Stranger…seeing him again. Would he still be her Jaime? Or would the creature returned be more like Cersei’s Jaime, some arrogant cad who’d sneer at her crooked nose and mock her honor and oaths?

Tyrion walked slowly and with difficulty handed her the priceless sword, gold and red married in steel, in need of care, she would undoubtedly bestow. The weight felt right on her hands, as if a part taken from her had been restored. A warmth suddenly saturated her whole being, making her feel hopeful. The mounting dread weighing her down has been lifted, there are no eyes watching her every step. 

With the sword against her bosom, Brienne wept and prayed the gods would return her heart to her…Just this once, she would have faith.

The ship had dropped anchor and it was time to face his fate, leave this prison and face his retributions. Jaime departed his cabin, leaving nothing of worth behind. He was no lord, no knight, no one of importance. He could see the remains of what was left of King’s Landing as he walked down the port. There was no more smoke billowing in the sky, but he could still breathe the ash in the air, the stench of smoked human meat, of what he had failed to stop. Covering his graying hair with the dark cloak Kinvara provided him, Jaime felt he was returning to the past. Not that long ago, he had covered his identity, trying to enter into the Red Keep, as the smallfolk tried to flee the city threatened by dragon and men.

This time no one would see him, the priestess had promised. _ Stay in the shadows, they will be your friends _.

Once again the disgraced Kingslaver, in rank rags covering his gaunt body, returns to this cesspool of greed and human waste. No Brienne by side, to remind him of the right path, mouthing about oaths and what is to be a knight. How he missed his wench, how he longed to see her eyes…only a glimpse…_ Please, just one more time _…

Somehow, he knew she was here. His insides felt warm, like a flame ignited within him, feeding his decaying soul of pure light. It had to be Brienne.

Perhaps the red witch had it right, that they were meant to become _ Lightbringers _.

* * *

  
  


  
  
  
  



	7. Lightbringers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An inhuman screech spewed from the throat of the king, “Swords of flame, together they come, to strike the Raven down, spill blood. Killer of kings, he comes from the ashes of dragon fire…to ensnare his lover to join him. The flame spoke to him…the god woke him from sleep. He is here…Goldenhand the Just.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's celebrate JB WEEK 2019! 
> 
> Shoutout to JailynnW for reading religiously and commenting on every chapter... this one is for you!
> 
> Another un-beta'd chapter by yours truly ;-)

** **

**Chapter 7**

* * *

Jaime was hiding in the shadows of dilapidated house. He was awaiting for some fucking sign. The priestess had stayed behind, leaving him at the port with no lasting wisdom on how to proceed into the Raven ’ s rookery. Some light spilled into his hiding place and Jaime stared at his bare stump. He didn ’ t have anything to cover it, only the sleeve of his dark cloak. He looked at the ropey scars, white and pink. Each was a testament to his agonizing pain that began that godsforsaken night …  How he lost his sword hand, Brienne screaming and fighting to break free from her would-be rapists and  “ sapphires ” coming out of his mouth unbidden to stop them. It was the beginning of a new chapter in his life … leaving behind the Golden Lion of Casterly Rock to become the maimed, graying has-been knight disgraced and disinherited.

Kinvara had said it was justified punishment for his multitude of sins, a cleansing treatment for his soul. He touched the edge thinking of Brienne and her chapped lips lingering there as her eyes conveyed a thousand words …  All of them meaning one simple thing. 

Pounding hooves startled him, a caravan was passing through the main thoroughfare in route to the Kingsroad. The gray banners meant that a Stark was leaving King ’ s Landing …  His heart started beating, fear gripped him as he believed Brienne was leaving him  — on her way back to the North, to Winterfell, to their warm room, full of memories — All the soldiers were Northerners, the only one standing out from the group was not his wench. Pod was close to the pavilion that carried the Lady of Winterfell. No, he could not see his Brienne anywhere and she would never leave her Lady unguarded, which indicated she had left her squire in charge.

The fervency he had felt earlier had not really left him, making him believe that the gods or god were set on the path …  She had to be here and they would meet again. Fates be damned, an undead man returned to his scorned lover. By what right could he demand be in her presence again? Even deem ask of her to commit the ultimate treason of killing king? Not for the first time, Jaime sensed that the Stranger was mocking him, allowing this as his just chastisement.  “ Fuck the Seven, ”  he whispered to the wind,  “ fuck the Red God of my torment, ”  he growled to the heavens.  “ I ’ m here, fuckers. She is here. What the fuck do you want of me, now? Smite me where I stand if you like? Who will kill your cripple king, then? No one, for there is no one like me. But I accept of God of Light and Fire, after all, a Lannister always pays his debts …”

Fixing his cloak in place, head covered, Jaime strode from his spot, knowing exactly where to go. No more bargaining with silent gods, no more staring into flames with harrowing visions of futures to come, Jaime Lannister was no crow to run from his duty. An oath as binding as blood running through his veins, a passionate kiss shared in candlelight capable of molding a changed man. Words came to mind, the Red witch with her potions and never-ending tirades,  “ Jaime Lannister died with his twin, you are Ser Jaime, reborn from the ashes of a dead House, a Kingslayer who found his honor in the arms of a woman knight, so bright she blinded him with her heart. Oaths bound you even now … Never a crow, you said. Prove you ’ re worthy of the Lady Knight, that you serve the one true god who has risen you from the ether …  Do not forget why you breathe again, Lannister. ”

With brisk steps toward the next secret passage inside the Red Keep, Jaime smiled for he was finally free Kinvara ’ s litany, of her worship and her damning words. Purpose was in his heart and he did not fear the living or the dead, having faced both in his previous life, his only obstacle was convincing the most honorable knight of the Seven Kingdoms to break a most sacred vow — simple.

* * *

Lady Sansa was leaving the capital at last. With her purpose done and her last affairs in order, she had no reason to overstay her welcome in the South. She had the royal decree declaring the North a sovereign, independent kingdom no longer owing fealty to the Westerosi crown in King ’ s Landing, to the politics of the Southern Lords and their schemes and petty squabbles. She looked to the horizon feeling accomplished, something that had taken so long, but felt so satisfying in the end. House Stark ruled the North, Winterfell would prosper again and the Northerners would never forget who had given them their freedom … a fiery red headed woman, with Tully cornflower-blue eyes, buy a she-wolf through and through.

She may have left her home as Lady of Winterfell, but now she would return as Queen of the North … the first ever crowning of a queen, their own reign no longer subjects of the whims of mediocre rulers and become entangled in meaningless wars. Sansa had achieved the impossible. No thanks to her brother, who acted with no cares to his people and turned his back on his duty as the last male heir of the Starks.

She closed her eyes, not wanting to linger in the forsaken city any longer than she had to. She had visited the bedside of her ailing brother. There was nothing she could do for him, she knew that Samwell would do everything in his capability to restore Bran ’ s health. Only in her heart did not feel much pity for the King ’ s febrile, crippled body. She could never forget his cold tone, as he described her wedding day to Ramsay Bolton …

_ You were so beautiful that night _ _ … _

It was unforgivable for her, regardless of the fact that he was back, alive and with supposed knowledge that would help them survive the war that came and was conquered … No thanks to the  _ Three-Eyed-Raven _ and his vague prophetic nonsense.

It was the end of an era, no more bowing and smiling, no more pretending and cowering to the desires of men, for now they would kiss her hand on their knees and plead to their queen. She had been a slow learner, but her teachers had given her the greatest lessons, in shame and blood, but Sansa Stark survived each and every one. Not one of her mentors could say the same.

The Hand of the King stood with a small group of Gold Cloaks, as well as her former sworn knight, Ser Brienne. She knew that her knight was not pleased with being left behind, in the crows ’  nest, nevertheless she would obey her lady ’ s orders. 

The swords at Ser Brienne ’ s hip, Valyrian steel reforged from her father ’ s sword  _ Ice _ , gleamed in the morning light, blinding and ethereal. Brienne ’ s hand would never stray for long from the pommels, as if afraid the objects of her affection would disappear. 

Sansa admired her knight one last time, the statuesque form, dressed in her blue armor, while her eyes betrayed her inner turmoil. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms … the first woman knighted by the most infamous of knights in the annals of the  _ Book of the Brothers _ . The Kingslayer and the Lady Knight forged in oaths, bloodletting and warfare. The swords belonged together and with its current owner. Ser Brienne had fulfilled her promise to her mother. The time had come to release the lady knight to find her place in this new world, without relying on her past vows directing her life.

Ser Brienne left her post beside Lord Tyrion and dropped to one knee in the presence of everyone witnessing the farewell.  “ My Queen, I beg your forgiveness once more … If I have wronged you, please I ask how may I make amends … I do not wish to leave you unprotected —”

Sansa smiled down at her knight,  “ Rise, Ser Brienne. I wish for us to part as friends, as family. You have served me well and more than what was expected of you, to assure my safety and my place back in Winterfell … I will miss you dearly, Brienne. Do not fret, for I take your precious Pod with me, and you know that he will protect me with his life, as you taught him, day after day. Ser Podrick will make you proud of him. I only ask that you stay here, for I fear you have unfinished duties here … May the gods, old and new be with you, Ser. Until we meet again. ”  Sansa hugged her dear friend and winked at the onlookers, Tyrion simply smiled and shrugged, as Bronn snickered.

Gasps and murmurs were heard all around the simple folk standing on the outskirts of the Northern cortege, when Brienne called her  “ queen, ”  Ser Davos stared down anyone who dared speak. No one did, it was not their concern what happened far North.

“ Well, Lord Hand, I wish we keep writing to preserve the peace between us … Who knows what the future will bring with duty and children on our shoulders. Until we meet again, Tyrion. ”  Tyrion kissed her proffered hand delicately, as his mismatched eyes stared into hers with longing. With a bow and curtsey, the goodbyes were complete and the Lady of Winterfell left the accursed South to become the Queen of her beloved North.

* * *

Tyrion returned to the Hand ’ s tower, feeling melancholic and bereft. Just as he was climbing the stairs, he became aware that he was not alone. Someone had been here … looking up the door stood ajar. Tyrion felt compelled to ascend, face whatever awaited him inside his alcove. Out of breath, he pushed his entry hastily to witness a hooded, tall man fiddle with his decanter and serve himself a full goblet of his preferred Dornish red wine. This intruder was in need of a good washing and a change of clothes, the ones on his person were rotting rags, stained with dried blood. The man did not stop gulping the wine down, not acknowledging Tyrion ’ s presence. It was in this instance that the Hand noticed no guard was nearby, he was at the mercy of the trespasser. 

“ I see you have good taste, my friend …  Who might you be? I do not recall having a meeting expected this afternoon. I can send for some hearty stew and more wine and fresh bread from the ovens. That way you may discuss what troubles your soul —”

With one hand holding the glass, the man used his right arm, showing a healed stub instead of a hand, to push the hood of his smudged cloak, revealing a tangled, golden fringe, full of wisps of salt and peppered hair. The eyes — green and full of mirth — were the ones he had been missing and mourning for weeks. The man standing inside the Tower of the Hand was none other than his brother … his dead brother.

“ Expecting someone else, dear brother? Maybe you have returned to your old exploits, wanting some afternoon carnal delights to soothe your even mounting burdens as Hand of this king. I have come to add to your hardships. I need for you to allow my presence in the Red Keep, and delay its knowledge outside of these walls. ”

Tyrion opened and closed his mouth, stunned. After a fortifying breath he hobbled closer to what could only be an apparition.  “ If you are who you claim to be, what were my last words to you, Jaime? ”

Green eyes stared directly to his own mismatched ones,  “ _ Ten thousand of innocent lives, one not particularly innocent dwarf. Seems like a fair trade. Y _ ou were ready to sacrifice yourself for the realm, betray your queen and free your sister-fucker of a brother to save said sister from impending doom. ”

Tyrion felt lightheaded and collapsed in the nearest armchair. Jaime poured him a cup and sat, waiting for his brother. So many questions brewing inside his mind … it was impossible and yet Jaime was beside him, breathing and drinking his wine.  “ Fucking Davos and Bronn, you owe them this … whatever the fuck this is. You are alive and back in this cursed city. Why, Jaime? You could have stayed in the Free Cities, live the rest of your days in obscurity, free of your past, from father ’ s legacy, from Cersei …”

Jaime stood and walked to the window, his gaze watching the city, the place that had been his home for decades … in shambles. He had tried to halt its destruction more than once, and here he was set to stop another ruler on the brink of madness.

“ I was dead and no the Stranger did not send me to the seven hells. I died beside Cersei and I would have stayed in the nothingness with no regrets …  Kinvara and her Lord of Light brought me back from the pits of darkness to experience the pain of my fatal wounds once more. As I slowly healed, I had to endure her constant verbose assault, demanding my acquiescence to honor my namesake. ”

Tyrion baffled at his words, asked for clarification from his brother,  “ Namesake? You mean your moniker as the Kingslayer? It that why you are in this place? To kill the King? I think you won ’ t have to do much … his Grace, Bran the Broken, is on his deathbed as we speak. The maesters are incapable to stop his fever and he has been unconscious for days … the ravens fell from the sky, all dead. Something we owe to the red priestess, perhaps? ”

Jaime turned to his brother,  “ The witch believed and prayed to her fire god, stared endlessly into the flames and used my blood for some ritual that would ensure I could return undetected. Blood magic and visions. No burning people at the stake for the Lord of Light to grace me with life, to my knowledge. The god demands I take the king ’ s life, not to fail like I did years ago … only I can ’ t do it alone. Two swords forged from Stark ’ s longsword, wielded together will burst into flames to end the reign of the  _ Three-Eyed Raven _ . ”

As Jaime bowed his head, Tyrion understood the significance of his statement,  “ You need Brienne to end his life, with  _ Oathkeeper _ and  _ Widow _ _ ’ _ _ s Wail _ as one. And how do you intend to rouse the most honorable and loyal of knights to betray her oath and commit treason against her king? You can ’ t just fuck her and make her give in to your whims. This is no ordinary maid, falling on her knees ready to worship where you walk on. Do you forget you left her in Winterfell after having her for weeks in the cold of winter, after defeating the dead … Jaime, I do not have words to make amends for my part in it and in this you are on your own. Ser Brienne has been assigned by Lady Sansa, soon to be Queen of the North, to stay here and protect … me. She was reluctant to leave her lady without her safekeeping. Pod left in her stead. ”

Jaime smirked,  “ I arrived at an opportune time … lead the way to the baths, for I have a wench to charm, even if I have to get thrashed by my Lady, I will gladly endure every pummel. Afterwards, if I have survived I can bend the knee and asked for her to grant me the honor of being her husband … Jaime of Tarth, sounds good to me, eh? ”

Tyrion fell back in his chair, holding his belly, guffawing at his brother ’ s absurdity,  “ Still wanting to be the  _ Smiling Knight _ …  Let's get you smelling of sand wood and out of these rags into the clothes of your namesake, maybe a touch of blue to entice your Lady. ” 

Something unknowing foreboding, a gnawing in her guts kept her from staying still. Brienne lost the Lord Hand, but she was not worried for him. Her eyes strayed to the heavens, searching for a sign. No crows overhead, no eyes staring, beseeching for secrets. And yet her intuition was alert, the warmth still glowing inside her. She stomped towards the training grounds, the clashing of swords calling to her. A bit of sparring would help with her unsettled thoughts.

Her hand gripped the hilt of  _ Oathkeeper _ , her fingers lingering as the other sword ’ s pommel on her hip glinted red in the sunlight, the ruby glowing. She pulled it off the scabbard and held the sword. Jaime ’ s sword. The one that fought the wights, that protected Pod, that cut through the hordes of the dead. The sword that touched her shoulders bestowing upon her the honor of becoming a knight by his hand. The sword signified the best and worst of its bearer. She almost felt compelled to kiss it on her knees … She sheathed it. 

Merely as she was reaching the armory to pick a training sword, a small boy found her, interrupting her impending session against a straw dummy.  “ M ’ lady! I meant to say, Ser-Lady, you are needed by the Hand. He seeks your counsel in his chambers, post haste if you please. ”  The scrawny child bowed and left her, scowling at the ground. This new assignment felt like retribution for an unnamed wrongdoing. She dropped the wooden sword and left in a huff. 

Each step approaching the antechamber, Brienne felt her hands slick and tried rubbing her palms on her trousers. Her heart pounded in her chest, anxiousness at what was expected of her. Lord Tyrion only reminded her of what she lost back in Winterfell. Nights of camaraderie and drinking, being part of the celebration, not the butt of the joke, just another knight. 

The door was closed and she could hear muffled voices behind it. Her right hand trembled as she knocked twice,  “ Come in. It must be the wine and the supper I asked for us. Please, come in. ”  She pushed with strength and the door rushed back, hitting the wall. The clatter distracted her from looking at the room, as she turned in humiliation at blunder.  “ Please forgive my imposition, Lord Hand —”

Tyrion glared at Jaime hiding behind the curtains,  “ No need, Ser Brienne. I did call for your presence. Only I did not think you would arrive so promptly …  We have to wait for our supper to reach us, I think it would be proper for you to eat and meet with your new post. I know you did not ask to be left behind …  Your Lady is in good hands, after all Pod is a worthy knight because of your teaching and incessant training. He would have never amounted to much being my squire, the only skill he learned from me was how to pour more wine and how to find the next brothel … But I digress. Take a seat, Ser. We have much to divulge this night. First some Arbor Gold, I do remember you preferred it, if I misread we have Dornish as well. ”

Brienne sensed this was all a ruse to get her defenses down and then spring something upon her, painful and awkward. She glanced around the room, the fire, the candlelight, the slight breeze coming through the window, billowing the translucent shades in the wind. Her hand felt for her sword, the warmth flared within, they were not alone in the chambers. Tyrion kept talking, the words not registering in her mind, her eyes stalking the presence, its closeness suffocating. A swift movement, the curtains parted, one boot then another. The pounding of her heart obliterated every sound around her, as she stopped breathing, her whitened fingers gripped the handle of Oathkeeper slowly pulling it. 

Her eyes strayed from the boots, as the man in the shadows unveiled his face … the most startling feature, green eyes beholding her. His gaze felt like a caress, only brewing the heat inside her. Her hand released the hilt, tremors running down her arm. 

Hesitantly, Jaime walked closer, as Brienne closed her eyes, denying him the gift of her eyes, but not extinguishing the embers linking them, a union of their souls that not even death could tear asunder. His hand grazed her cheek,  “ Brienne …”

“ N-nooo … I-I must be dreaming —”

Brienne stumbled trying to get away from the specter. It was not possible. She had hoped, but she had not really believed in ever seeing  _ him _ again. Tyrion tried to intervene, as Jaime continued to approach her.  “ Ser Brienne, I apologize for the deception … You deserve the truth —”

“ Enough! Brienne … I-I have come and I do not expect to be forgiven … what I did was reprehensible. I stand before you willing to do whatever you demand upon me. My life is forfeit without you beside me. ”

Jaime kneeled at her feet, trapping her against the wall. He noticed her shaking hands, the twin swords held at her hip, tears sprang from his eyes. His sole hand fondle the pommel of his own sword, in a place of honor, right next to hers. Brienne gasped, as if his touch had roused her from a dream. 

“ At your feet, my Lady I lay my life, do what you will with it. Oaths have bound us, before we met. May we never part again, for I am yours, as you are mine, Ser Brienne. ”

A silence settled between them, with Tyrion as a witness. He coughed and gulped his goblet, as the knock and servant interrupted the intimate interlude.

“ Arise, Ser Jaime. If you words are correct, you are entitled to fight for my hand. I will not marry a man that cannot best me in single combat. Take up your sword, Ser. Meet me in the yard. If not, this is farewell, we have been good at those in the past … Ser Jaime. Pardon, Lord Hand but I will not be staying for supper. ” 

Her hands were no longer shaking, as she stared at the man who left a dark, cold dawn in Winterfell. His beard had been trimmed, as well as his hair, with a blue jerkin covering his torso. A restored lion, unbowed, resolved after facing death. His hand pulled his sword, finally complete.  “ After you, Ser Brienne, lead the way …”  Both were looking forward to the clashing of swords, their hearts singing in sync, like times past. This was truly being alive, even if his Brienne ended up killing him. 

_ Let the Stranger take me _ _ … _

Samwell hovered over the bed, keeping wet rags over the sweating forehead of his king. The waiting was taxing, but nothing to be done. The Citadel was sending some Grand Maester to take over the care of his Grace, but it would take a least a sennight or more, for the decrepit man to arrive.

A choking gasp made him turn, as Bran opened his eyes with no milky shade, his pupils blown, stared into him, searching … spittle out of his mouth, dark and bloodied, mumblings unintelligible to his ears.

“ Your Grace! You have awoken at last! Let me help —”

An inhuman screech spewed from the throat of the king,  “ _ Swords of flame, together they come, to strike the Raven down, spill blood. Killer of kings, he comes from the ashes of dragon fire _ _ … _ _ to ensnare his lover to join him. The flame spoke to him _ _ … _ _ the god woke him from sleep. He is here _ _ … _ _ Goldenhand the Just. _ ”

Swiftly the Greenseer lost all his strength falling back, his eyes turning white as eggshells, and his mouth oozing dark blood, while his limbs shuddered. His whole body was convulsing as Sam tried to hold him down, hollering for assistance. As he stood by the bedside of his king, Samwell pondered the significance of each word the young man had uttered. It was a warning. A man was coming for the King, to end him, a killer of kings …    
  


A servant with fresh linens came into the royal chamber and dropped them as she saw the dark blood spilling on the floor. Sam took command,  “ Ros-se! Rose! G-get the Hand! We need him right now! Get me the Lord Hand! ”  The poor girl picked up the linens and ran from the rooms in search of the Hand. 

The other maester stared horrified at the state of their charge.  “ Samwell … His Grace is dying. There is nothing we can do. ”  As both of them held the quaking body, Sam looked at the while orbs, still open with no pupils,  “ We do our duty. We wait for the Lord Hand. May the gods have mercy on his Grace and end his agony. ”

The seizures abruptly desisted, as a glacial breeze rushed through the window. A lone raven appeared and sat at the windowsill, sporting three eyes and squawking for their attention. The high pitched sound was deafening and disorienting. 

“ Go find him … and her. The  _ Lightbringers _ must be stopped. ”

With these words, the dark bird flew away in obedience, for his master had awaken.

“ Get me my chair. I have important matters to discuss with my Hand. ”

* * *


	8. Madness and misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The raven returned its eyes back to normal, no white orbs, nor a third eye staring ominously. Just one had survived. The bird cawed to its master, the Three-Eyed Raven beckoning it closer, “You are all that I have left, my dear old friend. You must suffice, be diligent and find me the one at fault…We shall find retribution. Yessss. Now, off you go! Do not come back without my Sight!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'ed. That's how I roll...sorry.

** **

**Chapter 8**

* * *

The King sat on his chair, waiting for an answer that would not come. The raven at the window stared blindly, not a single vision shared between them. His hands gripped his coat, fingers whitened by the force of his hold. Nothing … it was not possible. Something had taken over his  _ eyes _ , some unknown power for no man could stop the Three Eyed-Raven. 

Not one had been born and lived. The Greenseer had made sure that no weapon would stand against him. The clawing of the raven was only annoying him, reminding him of the sightlessness … vulnerableness … defenseless. He had to remain serene, as if nothing had changed. 

“ Where is the Lord Hand? Has he sent word of his whereabouts? Does he not care to respond to his King? ”

The servant boy kneeled on his knees before the King,  “ Your Grace, please how may I serve you, while you wait for Lord Tyrion …”  His hands trembled, as he waited. He may be young, but he could sense the dread permeating the air around his Grace, the stench of illness lingering. Dried dark blood still present on his face. 

Every royal attendant had been hustling to clear any evidence of the ailment that had befallen their king.  _ No trace shall remain _ , he had demanded once he had been cleaned and dressed in his royal robes and warm coat. The maesters had pleaded for his Grace to rest and wait, both of them unsure of his sudden improvement. The King sent them away.

“ Bring to the window, afterwards leave me. Only disturb me with news about my Lord Hand. ”

The raven returned its eyes back to normal, no white orbs, nor a third eye staring ominously. Just one had survived. The bird cawed to its master, the  _ Three-Eyed Raven _ beckoning it closer,  “ You are all that I have left, my dear old friend. You must suffice, be diligent and find me the one at fault … We shall find retribution.  _ Yessss _ . Now, off you go! Do not come back without my Sight ! ”

The bird took fight, cawing as it left his master awaiting, cursed to be stuck in place and now with no eyes beyond. 

“ Oh dear Hand … I wonder what has taken your attention from your King. What could possibly be more important than my affliction and my miraculous recovery? If only I could  _ seeeee _ … I must play it right and not let you know more than you should, once you stand before me. Yes, I chose you to keep you close, hold you in my grasp and use your cleverness. But now, I fear you might take your position, move as you please, and that my dear Tyrion won ’ t do … No, little lion, no roaring from you …”

* * *

Tyrion stood by as they glared and huffed at each other. Jaime simpering fool that he thought he could charm his Brienne with his smirks and green eyes … Brienne, stoic and severe, only one who watched her long enough could detect her tells. Her astonishing eyes spoke of trickling pain and untamed rage. Her hands in fists at her sides, at the ready for any sudden movement, always on guard. One wrong move from his brother and she would best him without much effort. 

Madness and misery, fitting company of his brother had only driven him to his own death and Tyrion had been too eager to enable … an action he would regret for the rest of his days. Nothing good had come from it. Their sister had died, and so had Jaime and no holocaust had been prevented. His Targaryen had done exactly the opposite, she was no mother showing mercy to her wayward children.

Tyrion suspected something had taken over … as if they had been played by an all-knowing sapience. He had kept his misgivings to himself, more so in the perilous conditions of life after the death of Daenerys Targaryen. 

Shrewdness and patience were the virtues of a great man, and Tyrion Lannister hoped to be in possession of both. While his older brother had neither by the looks of it … the lady knight had left, expecting Jaime to follow. A single combat for her hand in marriage. Tyrion shook his head, gazing at his brother physical form,  “ There ’ s no way you will best her … She trains daily with all who dare try and she wins every single time. You have not picked a sword since … She will murder you! Smiling Knight and every other fool is what you have become! ”

Jaime ignored his brother ’ s warning,  “ I will win this day, not by skill with a sword. I will tear through her armor in other ways … even if it kills me, Tyrion. I live for this moment and if I do survive, may the fucking Lord of Light get his fill of me, the Kingslayer lives and he shall spill king ’ s blood once more, but not before he gets his lady knight. ”

Madness and misery. 

The door closed behind his brother with a clang. He hoped they were discreet, there was no need to announce to the whole keep that Jaime Fucking Lannister had come back from the seven hells. Fuck. He better find Bronn, confer with him, as the former sellsword always had his way out of no-win situation.

Just as he was pouring his third cup of Dornish, a pounding at the door stopped him for downing his drink.  “ Come in, whoever you are …”  It was a royal attendant, out of breath and sweating profusely, he took a lightly bow,  “ Lord Hand … your presence is requested immediately … the King —” 

“ What has happened to his Grace? SPEAK! ”  Tyrion had lost his composure demanding a quick response. The young man stuttered,  “ He ’ s awake … The King demands his Hand ’ s presence, at once. ”  Tyrion gulped his cup, almost dropping it in his haste to finish its contents. He was not expecting to hear that the king had awoken from his dreamlike state … it was too soon. He had no time to think, to maneuver the key players and change the stake of the game … for that was what had been all along. The most clever man of Westeros had to face the most treacherous one, with a sovereignty of omnipresence, perhaps more. 

“ Of course, I must make myself presentable. I won ’ t take long. Let his Grace know I will promptly comply with his command …”  The man nodded and left him. Tyrion stared at the closed door, searching for answers. He needed to be most careful … ascertain what the King knew already, if he had regained all his faculties. There was no escaping the meeting, he either lied or stalled, talking without giving much away, to assure his Grace of his loyalty for the moment.

Ser Goodwin had said these words to her,  “ You have a man ’ s strength in your arms, but your heart is as soft as any maid ’ s. ”  _ A maid _ _ ’ _ _ s heart _ . A curse more likely, for she had succumbed so easily. Tears fell from her swollen eyes, as she gazed at Jaime sleeping on her bed. His chest barely covered by her thick blankets. He was restless, mumbling under his breath, the only discernible word was her name.

Jaime was alive, back from death, from the grip of his twin sister, the queen of calamity and despair, away from his dead children … a chill ran through her at the thought. It was the impossible, done by another red witch. Kinvara, he had called her. Dark blood had spilled from his wounds and his mouth, as he was revived, agonizing pain overtook him as he took his first breath. 

Dark magic had taken her king … Renly had died by the hands of the Red Woman, and now Jaime had returned by the actions of another. It was inconceivable. His wounds had been fatal and he had been crushed in the catacombs of the Red Keep … with Cersei in his arms.

Brienne had accepted her fate. She was not meant to be a lady, make a family with a husband that finally accepted the challenge of marrying an ugly, lumbering woman with a sword at her hip. Her father had written her numerous ravens asking for her return and for each one her answer had been the same, duty and honor. Her hand found the pommel of her sword,  _ Oathkeeper _ , helping her feel grounded. It was not a dream. He was breathing, resting as if nothing had gone wrong. 

_ Words are wind. Are you still hateful, Ser? Do you still seek death to ease the endless torment of your past misdeeds? Am I your consolation now that your other half is no more? _

Every single word had spewed from her mouth, her boiling rage driving her, as she circled him in the concealed space they had taken as the setting for their sparring contest. Jaime could barely hold Widow ’ s Wail, his side was hurting and his legs were wobbly. One clash of their swords and he would fall on his arse, defeated and forced to yield …  Did she want him to yield? Lose his hold over her, be subject to her disdain and rejection, this time.

_ Wench, how I have missed staring at your striking blue eyes. The witch vexed me with her never ending demands and ranting mad about her god. You may bore me with your stubbornness, but nothing beats looking at your eyes _ _ … _ _ as you get ready to beat me with brutal force. This want for the rest of my days, you will be the one protecting the aging lion, his glory days long gone, as his lady knight becomes his Starlight, his guiding light. Nothing will please me more than to become Jaime of Tarth _ _ … _ _ What do you say, Ser Brienne? _

His smile had been blinding, as he tried to keep up with her movements. He had wanted to disarm her with his wit and his endless quips. She pushed him and he immediately lost his balance, with only one hand he held onto her. He fell backwards, taking her with him, her weight on top of him, causing to huff in pain. 

Brienne tried to push back, but his hand grabbed the back of her head,  “ Don ’ t move, Wench. Look at me, as we lay in each other's arms. This is how it should be … _ Choices _ . Remember what I said to you all those years ago? How I was an arrogant fool, giving you my irreverent wisdom … We don ’ t get to choose whom we love. Well, I was mistaken for believing lies we told ourselves, making truths out of things that only served us. For I breath, and she does not … Did something die with her? Yes, I know it did and what lives before you, this Jaime chooses his Brienne … the truest knight that has ever lived. I choose you, Wench. ”

His sword forgotten on the ground, his hand pulled her hair, grown longer, her face was so close, that his breath warmed her. His lips brushed hers, puff of air between them, as her heart beat harder, clashing its own rhythm against her chest.  “ Please … let me get off you … you must be in pain. Ser —”  He growled at her,  “ JAIME! My name is Jaime, Brienne! ” 

And then he crashed his mouth so hard, forcing his tongue inside seeking, always wanting. She bit his lip, blood gushing into her mouth and spilling down his chin.  “ So innocent and violent at the same time, makes my blood boil like no other, Wench. Shy and animalistic, devour what is yours for the taking … for I won ’ t stop you. ” 

She let her sword down on the ground, moving carefully, her hand held his face with her elbows taking the brunt of weight.  “ You Ser always making demands. Yield? Forfeit this round, you have won this time. I must return to your brother. ”  His answer had been to pull her hair harder, making her moan and gasp,  “ Mine, say it. There is no other, there will never be … I am yours, Brienne. I have much to make amends … I know what did to you. Yes, I am a hateful man, only you can see beyond the facade, and love me inexplicably. Love, Brienne that is what we have and I want it with you … the red god wants it, too. Fuck, it hurts —”

She had helped him up, both holding each other. His eyes never leaving hers, holding her captive. He was not afraid, never really had been that man. She may have called him a craven for wanting to die once, but there was no man like him. 

Thankfully no witnesses to their trek around the keep, they made their way to her chamber. He fell into her bed, leaving her to undress him. He hummed happily as her hands fumbled with the ties of his tunic and his trousers. 

“ You know what a pity … we did not get to spar properly, but I promise you, when I gain more strength we will … We have to touch our swords once more and then we will see the glowing swords, one ruby red and the other sapphire blue. I want to see if the vision was real … you standing in the light, the flame will not harm you and I will be beside you, as it is destined to be. The fucking red god showed it to me … in the flames. It is why I was brought back. So, W-wench you mus-st take me back … f-fight with me and make me-e yours for the re-sst of my days-s. ”

Jaime had slipped into unconsciousness after that, leaving her to ponder his words. She had a choice to make, one that could alter the rest of her life and change its course irreparably. 

The swords rested on the table, side by side, not equal in length, but both reforged from the Starks longsword Ice, belonging to Ned Stark. Her curiosity drove her to look closely at them, noticing the craftsmanship of each sword, masterpieces that were invaluable in any fight, that had kept them alive in the Long Night … but they had not ignited into flames. Each of her hands took a sword, one deep breath and she purposely touched the blades and felt a static, an energy surging within, the glowing warmth flowing with ease. Jaime gurgled and woke with a jolt, his pupils blown and his hands trembling. He had felt it, too.

Ablaze, both swords had ignited at contact, twin flames, red and blue, as Jaime had described. Brienne was overwhelmed, frozen in place, as the flaming swords did not abate. He stood and slowly came closer, his hand grazed the blade. He only felt the heat, but no boils or burns were present on his hand.

“ Fuck, Brienne. We really are the  _ Lightbringers _ . ”

* * *


	9. Afterwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I like that your hair is longer, gives me more to grip on, hold you to me. How I missed you, wench. Your eyes are the balm to my despicable soul. Don’t close them, look at me. You are all I need. It was never you…I was and will always be unworthy of you, pure and just. It is why you were chosen, to join me to you, for us to cleanse this world once and for all. _Afterwards_…that is for us to make."

**Chapter 9**

* * *

Kinvara wrapped her wound. The black bird had found her unawares. It could not happen again, or maybe it was already too late now... Blood always spoke of truths. She closed her eyes and silently prayed to _R'__hllor_. She could not fail, the _Lightbringers_ were finally together. Everything was coming to pass as her god had shown her in the flames.

The _Greenseer_ king must not see before the exact moment of his demise. This is the most important mission the Red Priestess had ever encountered. Prophecies and promises had been overturned by the _Three-Eyed Raven_. The _Sight_ had given him the leverage he needed to overcome each and every player in the game of thrones. Only he had forgotten about the frailty his mortal vessel, and underestimated the power of another divine entity taking offense of his strategic maneuvering.

Her blood would serve as a sacrifice, to ensure the continuing sightlessness of the seer. Lannister and Tarth had found each other... ice and fire, ruby and sapphire blending in fate to free Westeros from enslavement.

The fire grew and the flames flared, Kinvara focused and smiled. Yes, Lannister would fulfill his oaths. He would not fail her god. And she would be ready for the next time the crow came for her. 

* * *

Bronn stared at Tyrion, in disbelief as he downed cup after cup of wine. "You have finally lost it. I helped Davos, but I don't think your cunt brother could be put back together. You must stop this mummer's  farce and not speak one word of it to the lady-knight. She will slice you before you finish your tale —”

Tyrion sighed and shook his head, the sellword was a useful man, but could be daft sometimes. "Jaime is back. He is alive, not fully recovered... I don't think he will be able to even hold his sword and stay upright. As for Ser Brienne... she saw him with her own eyes and challenged him to single combat. I did not attend. The king is awake, Bronn. We all must be vigilant. Jaime needs to stay dead to everyone else. Understand? No one must know... whatever happens next, you must trust me and if I tell you to run, well you do what you do best, my friend. I have to keep the peace for the sake of everyone in Westeros, including the North."

Bronn cheered, "To the Queen of the North, long may she reign! For if we fuck up, that's where we'll end up hiding... in the fucking north and join the wildlings and Jon Fucking Snow. Order more wine, Lord Hand, for I don't think we will enjoy a night like this in a long while."

Tyrion held his goblet in the air and sipped his wine. His mind continued to work through all that needed to withstand—King's Landing would not survive another war, seven hells the entire kingdoms of Westeros had been pillaged by famine and death. He feared for the consequences of killing another king...

_ Who would succeed King Bran the Broken?  _

For a second, Tyrion was tempted to stare at the flames and beckon the god that had given him his beloved brother back for a vision. Mental acuity and insurmountable knowledge were not going to help him win this round of the game. He would have to be patient and wait for the next move on the board and hope his brother did not fuck up, in the name of all the gods, the old and new. He was not a man of faith. He would have to trust the only man he ever loved more than anyone else.

"Boy! Fetch us more wine and keep it coming."

"Why have the gods chosen us, Jaime? Why the flaming swords forged from Ice? Lightbringers... I do not understand."

Jaime was still awestruck, watching the dancing flames. His hand was unharmed, no blemish on his skin. "Touch it, wench. See if you are not harm as well."  With his urging, Brienne caressed the blue flame, it ignited in the air, as if fed from her and suddenly the flames extinguished.

"Is there a significance to the color of the flames? They don't burn our skin..." Jaime took his sword, it was warm to the touch, but still intact. He did not have answers to her questions. All he knew was taken from the premonition shown to him in the flames. He wondered if the fire would reveal it to Brienne as well.

"We may have to find Kinvara and you could ask the witch... I did promise her that the next time I saw her I would end her life. No one else should be brought back from death. If we are to vanquish otherworldly powers, this should be gone as well. No more gods and prophecies will be governing over us. We make our own destinies, Brienne."

Brienne sheathed _Oathkeeper_ and stood by the window, away from Jaime. "You speak as if we will face the rest of our lives together. You have not bested me yet in single combat, Ser. Do not make any commitments... Your word is your bond. I will hold you accountable."

The distance between them would not do, so Jaime strode with no qualms to his Brienne, for she would be his, nothing would stand in his way, not even death. His hand touched her cheek, feeling her warmth and softness of her skin.

"Wench, you forget you belong to this aging lion. Your father will give his blessing and I will join you in the Sapphire Isle. We will play our part and then we can leave this all behind. I will make sure the throne ends with the slash of our blades. This I swear to you, Ser Brienne. Now, I will kiss you and you will give yourself to me freely for you are mine. Say it, Brienne."

His breath brushed over her lips, enticingly. His lips healing from her bite. Her tongue brushed her bottom lip and he simply pounced on her, his hand pulling on her mane. "I like that your hair is longer, gives me more to grip on, hold you to me. How I missed you, wench. Your eyes are the balm to my despicable soul. Don't close them, look at me. You are all I need. It was never you... I was and will always be unworthy of you, pure and just. It is why you were chosen, to join me to you, for us to cleanse this world once and for all. _Afterwards..._ that is for us to make. I love you, Brienne."

Brienne gazed at him, tears welling and slipping down her cheeks. It hurt so much, her walls crumbling down with his words. She wanted to believe it was not her failing at pleasing him, binding him to her. She was not Cersei and would never be. She wanted that afterwards so badly... Tarth and Jaime, to live away from war and desperation, of pain and bloodshed. 

Brienne bit his lip, making it bleed again. As Jaime hissed at the pain, she held his face close, their foreheads touching. "You are mine, Jaime Lannister... Do not leave me, again. Not ever, for I will not forgive you a second time. I will stand by your side and face the consequences. You bleed, I bleed.You die, I die. This I swear, in the name of the Seven."

Together, they divested each other from their garments. Nothing left between them, bared bodies, bared souls. 

"Do you remember the first time, Ser Brienne?"

Jaime got closer, his fingers lingering on her waist, holding Brienne closer. Her hands took hold of his wrist and stump, "It was a first for both of us, in many ways. There's no wine to ply me with this time... I'm still a knight and you're still one, too. No more games, Ser Jaime."

She held him against her chest, both feeling their hearts pounding in sync. The blood had dried on his lip, the metallic taste in her mouth. " You' re mine, Ser. For I am yours, from this day, till the end of my days. No man can pull asunder what the gods have united. Swear it, Ser Jaime!"

Jaime on tiptoes, brushed his bruised mouth, whispering, "Are you marrying me, wench? Even if I have not bested you, like you required of any man worth your hand... What will I say to the Evenstar when he asks?"

Brienne yanked on his golden locks, "We yield together, before the gods, surrendering ourselves for now no one goes above our oath. To each other. One day you will prove as the only one man worthy of the Maid of Tarth. The only one you need to worry about is... me. Now kiss me, for I may die tomorrow."

Tangled in furs, Jaime smacked his mouth to hers embracing her, "Take me, Brienne. My Lady. My knight. Take from me what you need, for I live and breathe for you, from this day forth, until the end of my days. May it be years and years from now for I wish to see my seed take root within your womb... be a father to my children and see you truly smile, as you can only at the presence of greatness."

He settled on his back, his hand keeping its grip on her skin as his stump grazed her hip encouragingly. There was no one else for him, as his eyes glazed over at her astonishing eyes glanced over him. Her legs were straddling his midriff, getting closer and closer, torturing him. "Are you going to ride me, Brienne? ”  Her thighs closed on his hips, as her hand held his cock in place, causing Jaime to gasp in pleasure. Her rosy nipples stiff to the cold air begging for his touch, but he stayed in place. Every freckle unveiled to his gaze. 

"Yes, I will ride my knight until completion, for his mine to do as I please... No more talking, Jaime." She plunged herself, taking control with the sway of her hips, moving harder and faster. The only sound accompanying their chorus of moans and pants, was the crackling of the dying embers on the fireplace, wisps of smoke giving out.

Sweat was dewing on their skin, making Brienne shiver.  “A bit cold, wench? Want me to take over?”  He found a bit of strength and pushed from the bed, coming face to face, their mouths touching, as their bodies met thrust for thrust.  “So good, Brienne...Never want to stop being inside you...”  His fingers found the place between them, right above the joining and brushed it with vigor. "Give it to me, wench...Give me everything! ”  And she shuddered, coming apart in his arms.

Somehow they held each other upright, as her lips grazed his earlobe, "I love you, Jaime." It was his turn to give himself to her, as he let go inside her.

The king stared at the window, while his servants cleared his uneaten supper. Sam stood by, begging Bran to at least drink some sips of water and the special brew, made by the maester, to reconstitute his strength. He shook his head, ready to dismiss the healer from his chambers. The man persisted, "May I bring some milk of the poppy instead? Is your Grace suffering any recurrent pains —”

"LEAVE! All of you! I do not need anything from this world...Just let me seee...I need to see. Where is my only friend gone? It must return with the one who did this to me...the flames...the swords...the clang of the blades...blood, so much blood. MINE!"

Sam relented to the king's wishes and left him, as he gestured for all the maids to retire from the royal rooms. It was blatantly clear to the maester that the king was in some dreamscape, not really seeing his surroundings. Whatever glimpse was uncovered his feverish state had unhinged the Greenseer. Perhaps, the young man had witnessed his mortal end.

At long last, Bran in his solitude could reminisce without further interruptions form the meddlesome healer. There was nothing the portly man could do to alleviate his agony. The _Three-Eyed Raven_ refused to simply stay and face the fated death at the hands of this so-called _Lightbringers_. The only one he knew that had come back from the seven hells was far away, beyond the Wall. The Red Woman had died after the Long Night, having accomplished her last duty.  
  
“Safe. I am safe. No one can take my place. No, I will not return to that accursed place under the Heart Tree. I am free from my bonds...Westeros is m-mine-ee. Oh...my dear friend, come forth. What have you  ** _seen_ ** ?"

The only raven around the capital had returned with the blood of the one who had conspired against his master. The claws scratched the forearm of the king, mixing the essences within him.

"Ah... I do see. There is another. A Red one dares defy me in the name of her god. She is the one who has blinded me. Mark her place, my friend. I will do the rest. It is not over, yet."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter to JailynnW  for believing in me and for holding my hand. You can find me on tumblr to see what I'm currently reading (I post snippets of my favorite parts with corresponding images/GIFs) and my latest cover art for JB fanfiction. 
> 
> Un-beta'd and with a slice of lemon *hides*
> 
> As for "The Seven Who Are One", Tania is currently away in Chicago, the lucky one who did see Gwen this weekend! So there will be no update this weekend. We have 8k+ words...so be patient *wink*


	10. King's blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end—with little potency—he tried to summon another weak-minded life that would grant him preternatural perception. His vessel’s ability to warg into another living thing had been what attracted him to the boy. Now at the end of the string of existence, not even this would save the thwarted seer.
> 
> “Stay away—now this is not the end. It is not—for I am immortal. For I will rise again, no shall stop what I have foreseen. Kingslayer!”

** **

The end was near, his end. Bran felt it crawling over his skin. There was nothing he could do to stop it. His last vision…the blood spilling freely from his lifeless body and his eyes staring blank into the nothingness. Whatever lived within him would be taken away, to be imprisoned again under the earth with the rotting roots of the Weirwood tree beyond the Wall.

His sole, dark companion had tried and found someone hiding in the shadows…a red priestess working for the obscure red god who’d dared to defy the ancient powers of that had conjured the essence of the all knowing _Three-Eyed Raven_. The woman was responsible for the joining of the _Lightbringers_, the ones destined to commit the dark deed that would bring upon his demise. It was she who had brought one from death…the one had spilled king’s blood in the past.

His mind kept bringing past memory of his host, a dilapidated tower in Winterfell and falling…falling down after being pushed by a golden-haired man. The boy had seen something, a dark secret. This act had sealed the broken boy with preternaturalness of the _Greenseer_. The specter had flirted with the innocent boy gaining his confidence and simply slipped in, taking complete control.

And now his power had been diminished to glimpses, of distrusting his own shadow. He can’t trust anyone, all were his potential enemies in wait for the exact moment to strike him down. 

The _Three-Eyed Raven_ did know something though, the one that had risen…the _Kingslayer_ was the same one who had given him the perfect vessel to inhabit. It seemed fitting that very same man would be destined to send me back to his prison underneath the Heart Tree of the _Children of the Forest_. 

The king sits and waits for his meal be brought in, the servants cleaning his personal chamber, changing the linens of his bed. Samwell entered and bowed, “Your Grace, it pleases me to see the improvement…Is there anything that still ails or aches?”

The man stared at the window willing his raven to visit him and give him more of the one he needed to vanquish before it was too late. “My dear Samwell, you have served your king well…Please leave me be. I need to meditate on many things. Let the servants bring me my sustenance and respect my solitude for the rest of the day.” Without another word uttered, Sam bowed once more, knowing he had been summarily dismissed by the king. He did take notice of the bags under the eyes and the swallow color of the skin of the young monarch. Evidently his king wasn’t completely on the mend, but he suspected it lies skin deep, within his subconscious mind. There was no herbs or unguent to fix this malady.

Jaime stared as his Brienne washed and dressed with a fresh kirtle. Her damp hair had grown past her shoulders, curled at the ends tempting him to slip his fingers through the straw-colored tresses. His gaze made her blush, “Please…turn away. I-I need to keep some dignity—” He grazed his fingers on her exposed skin, lingering on the blossoming bruise on her neck. “There’s no need to hide from me, Brienne. We belong to each other, bound by the gods and if you want in front of mortal men and women. My life is not my own, I think it never was…I was a blind fool. This time around I can’t be repeating the same mistakes. Let me live out in the open, no more hiding behind dark corners. Allow me to love you, wench.”

Brienne clasped the scabbard to her hips, “You forget Ser Jaime Lannister, that you and I have pending duty that will serve the whole kingdom. I confess my misgivings at your sudden appearance in King’s Landing and expecting my amenability to join this potentially fatal mission. You say we’re the _Lightbringers_—our swords alight in red and blue flames—meant to thrust and drive through flesh and end the life of the one you meant to kill all those years ago to hide your despicable secret. I say, yes…I will fight this being, end its reign whatever the consequences. We fought for the living once, let’s fight for Westeros once more, as knights upholding our oaths, to protect the innocent.” 

Jaime felt his throat tighten, still she outshines him, noble and true, his blue knight. “Ser Brienne, you have found the words to inspire this old man, I do hope you make me the most blessed and joyous man of the Seven Kingdoms when we join in the holiest of bonds—I intend to marry you, even if after everything that has befallen us, I declare you my wife, in the faith of the Seven, in the name of the old gods and even the damn drowned god along with the red one that dragged me from the nothingness of the seven hells…I repeat it, yours as you are mine, from this day to the end of my days, Brienne of Tarth, soon to be Lady Lannister. As for heirs, one for Tarth, one for the Rock and all the rest will bring us joy. We deserve it, wench children and peace. You in my arms as I die of old age, staring at your ocean-deep-blue eyes. That is my wish after kingslaying unworthy rulers and bleeding for honor.” 

Still close to each other, he bowed his head touching his forehead to hers, “Death was not powerful enough to hold me…Here I stand before you, a mortal man with scars skin deep. None of it matters if I don’t have my soul; it’s yours. Now, we must do what is required of us, out of loyalty and righteousness—the virtuous Brienne of Tarth and the dishonorable Jaime Lannister.”

* * *

Tyrion stood with Bronn, as Jaime and Brienne came into the Hand’s chambers. “Fuck a virgin! You cunt are really back from the grips of the Stranger. But it’s not enough to return that you’re right back to its bloody maw. I do wonder how you plan to kill a crippled king surrounded by his Kingsguard, one who can see the future—” Jaime grinned, “That is for the Lord of Light to explain, you see I have been ordained by a god to smite this miscreation. Brandon Stark ceased to exist long ago, when I pushed him off a tower…therefore, it is my retribution to end its life. Unfortunately, Ser Brienne is part of the conditions set by the red god. What I need from you my brother is an opening—an opportune breadth—our swords will take care of it, rightful kingslayers.”

Tyrion grunted, “For the realm! For the Seven Kingdoms! For the Lady of Winterfell!” He sloshed his drink and downed it down in one gulp. Jaime and Brienne drank, eyes on each other silently smiling. “For Westeros! Fuck the King!” Bronn hollered to the annoyance of the rest. “Fucking keep it down, Bronn! We need to survive the night. Tarly has given me the latest update our fragile despot. He is no longer feverish, but he is not healed. His mind is suffering, mumbling about a bloodless body, white eyes and flames. I surmise his S_ight_ is not fully functional. Is this the priestess doing, Jaime?”

Jaime nodded, “Kinvara is in King’s Landing, hiding and practicing her sorcery…my blood to please the Lord of Light. I need you to get us as close to the king. Bronn, all I ask is to get my brother out if we fail.”

Bronn smirked, looking at both knights and then turned to the dwarf, “What else can you offer me now to ensure my assistance in this daft pursuit?” Tyrion stomped on his foot, “For once, do the right thing Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. On the morrow, right before the dawn breaks both of you will slip inside the king’s chambers. No one will impede your entrance. The rest is in your hands, brother. Please, don’t make me regret—” Jaime knelt in front of his brother and opened his arms, both embraced. “We will see each other again. I need you to witness our marriage beforegods and men. I’ve been truly blessed, brother.”

Tyrion patted his back, “Just don’t forget to take me with you when you ride north, to Winterfell. I need to pay my respects to the Queen in the North, to make sure my former wife is safe and sound.” Brienne spoke for the first time, “Ser Podrick is with her, Lord Hand. He will protect her with his last breath. He won’t fail in his duty.” 

“Good to know our boy is all-grown, Ser Brienne. Thanks to your efforts, not mine Pod is a man worthy of praise, honorable and brave. Take your leave, the night is long and full of trepidation.”

Light entered through the window, casting its brightens into the room. The young man had not slept throughout the night, waiting for his bird to return to him with news. Nothingness had been his company. Not a single vision of his future, only a replay of his fall, and the blood, so much blood and white filmy eyes, vacant. He had screamed to be left alone, casting his guard outside the door.

Bran remembers it was daylight…but shadows and flames, it all gets jumbled and his memories flicker in and out like a snuffed candle. It slips from his consciousness, leaving him bereft. He shoved the parchments off his desk, inkwell dripping and splattering the floor. The liquid is dark like the wings of the ravens…his army dead. Only one survived and had not returned to its master. _Where have you gone, my little one? Please, return to me._

* * *

The accursed, feathered creature had found her anew. Kinvara had to accept it was persistent in its pursuit of her. Its master grew lethargic, losing its hold on what little power remained on the mortal coil it inhabited. She let it see her, knowing not much could be done now. _Come closer, demon. Meet the true god_. Fire would cleanse this city and with it she ended the raven’s life. Its eyes stared giving the last vision the _Three-Eyed Raven_ would get of the red witch. The animal twitched and cawed, its life-force leaving it. Its death adumbrated the sightless king’s fate.

_For you my Lord, it has begun.  
  
_

  


Bran gasped in pain, his body shuddering. The last raven had just died and he endured it. The necromancer was relentless in her course, determined to honor her god. It has begun, she said. The beginning of the end—with little potency—he tried to summon another weak-minded life that would grant him preternatural perception. His vessel’s ability to warg into another living thing had been what attracted him to the boy. Now at the end of the string of existence, not even this would save the thwarted seer.

“Stay away—now this is not the end. It is not—for I am immortal. For I will rise again, no shall stop what I have foreseen. _Kingslayer_!” 

* * *

The passageway into the king’s bedchamber was clear and that was the way in for Jaime and Brienne. Swords at the ready, a simple flick of the wrists and the slight clash both light up, bright flames illuminated the dark corridors they traversed. One more step and they would face their fates, trusting visions in glowing kindle, given by a god they did not worship or believe in.

“Brienne—”

“Jaime—”

She used her free hand to caress his face, “From this day until my last day.” He closed his eyes, holding back his tears, “You can turn back, leave this city and take my brother to Sansa…I can do this for the greater good, for all the glory and honor, but truthfully I will do it for you, Brienne. For every single moment you believed in me, your forgiveness in spite of my vile character, my sins I leave at your feet. For I will worship at your altar. Fuck the Seven, for none have my heart. Please—” Lips met, foreheads touched, “This is the pact we made, Ser Jaime. Forge ahead, together. I trust you.” 

With ice and fire, the swords guided their path illuminating in reds and blues, so graceful as it danced in the air. The knights strode into the king’s bedchamber and at once saw him awaiting. His last words about the _Kingslayer_—together _Oathkeeper_ and _Widow’s Wail_—vanquished the Other—hissing and wailing about its immortality and ferociousness to conquer humanity. The flames consumed the shell crackling and exposing bone, but Jaime wanting to make sure slit the throat silencing the vestige.

“It doesn’t seem fair—you’d expect for this thing to put more of a fight—” Jaime complained to Brienne, as she stood back and watched what was left of the boy known as Brandon Stark. She closed her eyes and prayed for his eternal peace, for his rejoining his parents, to be with his mother in eternal embrace.

The Kingsguard broke in, too late to defend their king. Their swords’ flame abruptly extinguished, as the Lord Hand entered the gruesome scene, accidentally stepping on the pooling blood and almost slipping. His mismatched eyes, focused on his brother, “This is the Kingslayer, you must thanking him for doing his duty once more. For the greater good, Ser Jaime Lannister faces the scorn of the people of Westeros. Let this time he be seen as what he truly is, a knight protecting the innocent. Long may me live, beside his lady wife, Ser Brienne. Both have their uphold their oath above all else. On behalf of the realm, I express my gratitude.” The dwarf bowed, while Ser Bronn chortled, “Fucking Lannisters!”

“You know this means that for a second time I can claim the throne of the Seven Kingdoms. And for a second time, I don’t want it. I concur with Snow, this is not worth my life and my happiness. This crown is clearly cursed. I propose another solution—let the kingdoms rule themselves; let them deal with their own problems. If needed its designated representative may meet and discuss mutual accords of trade and cooperation. One thing though, I will not be fixed into being the rightful heir to lord over the Westerlands. Let Tyrion fret over the smallfolk and their squabbles. I prefer to be traveling the countryside with a certain knight…maybe revisit a bridge and have a rematch, what say you, wench?”

Brienne rolled her eyes, “Please, ser. I have to write my father. Your incessant chattering is making my head ache.” She dipped her quill and continued writing her missive. Jaime came to her side, reading behind her back, “Oh, good you’re letting your father know of our impending nuptials. If I wasn’t so impatient I’d propose we sail to Tarth and marry there…But I fear your lord father won’t take a liking to me, so I think best we come already married and your belly swollen with child by then—” She had turned and put her hand on his lips, causing him to nip at her fingers playfully.

“Brienne, my starlight, can’t wait any longer—yours—mine—not even the Queen in the North will stop me from claiming what is mine.” 

Her eyes bright and wide, “You ser are an insufferable git. How I love you, even if you vex me so. And I won’t make you wait…feel this.” Her hand moved his hand to her middle and for the first time he noticed the swell. 

_Oh gods!_

“Brienne—Are we going to welcome our Brianna or Galladon in the coming moons?” His nose brushed his, and her lips kissed the tip. “Will you teach your daughter how to be the greatest sword fighter in Westeros?” This time Jaime could not contain his tears, “Yes, Brianna Lannister will be taught how truly a knight lives, with a sword in one hand and heart in the other, guiding her for the rest of her life.”

Spells were broken, but the _Greenseer_ lived contained within the base of the Heart Tree, sneering and plotting for the day another would rise and come. This vessel would not be weak and the _Three-Eyed Raven _would be free to roam and fight to conquer with the grace of the old gods who had been forgotten, its trees the specter’s connection to the outside world. Like a mist, the vision of a union between man and woman, both blessed and cursed, the _Lightbringers_ lived, but so did the Sight, ancient and sentient. Patience was a virtue the being possessed after all what was a millennia to an immortal.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ilikeblue for pre-reading and helping me polish it up (Chapter 1-2).
> 
> I want to give special thanks to JailynnW for pimping this story and for giving me encouraging comments. You are my cheerleader and I love your stories! Thank you :D


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